Class of Ninety Nine
by Sheri Contrary
Summary: After Voldemort is defeated in May of 1998, twenty students from Harry Potter's year return to Hogwarts to complete their wizarding education...but Headmistress McGonagall has made a few changes that just might make some uncomfortable! Or maybe not. Harry Potter and the gang, leaning toward Drarry, but haven't gotten there as of chapter twenty-two. Rated M to be safe. IN PROGRESS
1. New Home

*****New Note **(September 2013) - I am going to SLOWLY go through this fic and make some changes, then, with any hope, get back to writing it. I can't really guarantee anything, because times are rough right now, but it makes me sick that I started this OVER two years ago and haven't finished it (or at least updated in a long bloody time). I hope you, my lovely readers, will return if/when I do. Thank you for being so understanding.

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><p><strong>Author's Note <strong>(original notes)

Okay...starting ANOTHER fic, but...I don't _really_ know where this is going, so I hope you will please bear with me. And, since I always start my stories with an author's notes from hell...here you go!

**First**...I'm giving this an **M rating**, if for no other reason than to cover my ass...just in case, you know? There will most definitely be some profanity and...well...there _might be_ sex...somewhere within...maybe!

*****WARNING*** **To be completely honest, I read _soooo_ much **slash** (boy/boy) that I've been wanting to write one myself...so...this it _might could_ go there...maybe...so, beware! However, in saying that, I'm not going to promise that it will. I'm writing this in what I call "seat of my pants" (which means there's no friggin' plan or outline, I'm just writing whatever comes to mind at the time I'm sitting down to write), so whatever comes out of my brain is what you get! So...if your tender sensibilities can't take slash, then DON'T read this (and don't complain if you choose to read and it does turn out to have slash)! And if you _want_ for-sure slash, go somewhere else (because I ain't promisin' it)! So there! Either way...you've been warned! (note: I _am_ setting this up to be Harry/Draco.) **Pairing**: to start off...just **Harry and the gang**...later...IDK...we'll see. :p

**Second**...for this story, _most_ of the characters you will see will be familiar. Of course they will...this is FAN FICTION! *grin* But there will be _some_ characters that I make up (or pull from other places)...because that's what I do. In one of the other fics I'm writing, people have complained that I've made up too many of my own characters, but...well...I did give fair warning (in my A.N.). In this one, however, _most_ will be ones you know (like I said).

And **finally**...I do apologize for my American vernacular...as much as I try, I just can't seem to write in British English. Please note that I am quite aware that this story takes place in Great Britain (in London where King's Cross Station is and up north to Scotland where Hogwarts is supposed to be) and that, because I've never been there, it's really hard to duplicate the tone and/or atmosphere. I've never been very good at accents and cannot, for the life of me, reproduce a British one...let alone write one. *sigh*

Okay...so...here's **chapter one**!

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><p><strong>Posted:<strong> 5 May, 2011

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><p><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<br>Chapter One  
>"New Home"<strong>

The journey from platform nine and three-quarters to Hogsmeade, and then up to the castle, was interesting, to say the least—more subdued and less confrontational than years past—but now the twenty returning "seventh years" climbed silently from their Thestral-drawn carriages—most of them seeing the huge, winged, horse-like creatures for the first time—and filed through the oak front door and into the familiar entrance hall of Hogwarts castle—just as they'd done every year previous.

As the huge doors swung open, they came face to face with a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green tartan robes—her usual attire. It was Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and, though she looked as stern as she ever did, she still looked very much pleased to see them—the Gryffindor students could see this anyway. And, if truth be told, she was more than relieved that half of last year's seventh-years had chosen to return; it was more than she'd expected.

Without a speaking a word, however, the witch beckoned them forward, then turned and started up the magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.

Frowning, several students glanced nervously at one another—because they'd expected to be led into the Great Hall for a meal, as was customary—but none of them said a word. Instead, they followed the old woman without question—she was, after all, their headmistress now.

On the second floor, the old witch pushed aside a sliding panel—that none of them seemed to remember noticing before—revealing a small antechamber with a single door on the opposite wall. Passing through the small room, Headmistress McGonagall opened the door, then walked through it and into a wide hallway that was furnished with a few comfortable-looking sitting places. At the end of the hall, she turned left, then stopped in front of a monstrous tapestry. Taking out her wand, she said, "Watch closely, please," then tapped the tapestry in several places and waited while it rolled itself up.

"Make haste," the woman ordered as she continued on. "It won't stay up for long."

After several more sets of stairs, and a few more twists and turns down long, narrow, stone-walled corridors lit only by flaming torches—that not one student in attendance had known about—the woman stopped at...a _portrait_? Nothing, aside from two empty, over-stuffed chairs separated by a small, round table, seemed to be in the painting at the moment, which let all present know that the subject—or subjects—of this particular painting had more than one portrait and was/were currently in another one.

"There is no entrance password memorize, or riddles to unravel, like some of you are used to. All each one of you must do is say your name, in full, and you will be admitted," she explained, then turned. "Minerva Athena McGonagall."

"_Fabulous_," mumbled one of the students as the painting swung open.

After the empty painting had fully revealed an opening, the woman moved quickly through it, down a short arched hallway that had two doors on the left and one on the right, and into a room that was quite large—monstrous, really—and lavishly decorated and furnished.

"What is this?" asked the same student who'd just grumbled at the entrance painting after a quick glance around the room.

"_This_, Mr. Malfoy," she said, once she had everyone's full attention, "will be your home for the term."

Most students were frowning with confusion and whispering, but some looked quite distressed. Returning to Hogwarts just four months after the war ended was hard enough. Some hadn't planned on coming back at all, but for one reason or another had decided to—or were forced to return. And now they were being expected to live with...their long-time _rivals_?

"You mean we're not going to stay in our regular Houses?" a black-haired boy asked from his position—that was not far from Draco Malfoy.

"That is correct, Mr. Potter," said the old witch. "Being that a new set of first years is due to arrive this time tomorrow evening with the rest of the returning students, there simply isn't room for you in your original Houses any longer."

"We're to stay _here_...mixed with _them_?" a dark-haired girl sputtered, her lip curled up with disgust as she pointed at those who'd not been in her House.

"Yes, Miss Parkinson, you are," Headmistress McGonagall said with a clipped nod.

Then to the group, the old woman went on. "This is to be your new home and all here are now your housemates. Please look around. From this point forward, _all_ in this room are to be considered your family...your brothers and sisters, if you will. So...get used to it!" she said, her terse tone making it obvious that she'd brook no argument.

"Now, there will be two to a room and I will give you your room assignments in just a moment. But first, because you are all of age, you will be given much more freedom than you've been allowed in previous years. But please don't be fooled by this. You are still expected in attend your classes and do well. I will _not_ tolerate any slacking off."

At this McGonagall eyed the group and didn't continue until she'd received a nod of understanding from each and every student.

"You will be _required_ to attend a few meals in the Great Hall—breakfast, two days a week, Wednesday and Friday; lunch, one day a week, Monday; and supper two nights a week, Tuesday and Thursday. On weekends you may do whatever you wish as long as you are back in the castle by nightfall on Sunday. Your weekend begins as soon as your Friday classes conclude, and that will be at approximately half past eleven, as you will only have two classes on Fridays. For all other meals, save one, it will be your choice to join us in the Great Hall, or not."

"Our choice?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall said with a nod. "This _House_ is equipped with a fully stocked kitchen, just through that door there."

Everyone leaned to look around the woman as she held up a hand in the direction of said kitchen.

"And...that unmentioned meal?" Hermione pressed.

"For _that_ meal, every Wednesday evening, while the rest of us dine in the Great Hall, the twenty of you will eat _together_, in your House dining room. It is just there," she said as she turned slightly and raised a hand to direct everyone's eyes to the large dining room—also behind her.

"What's with all the purple?" another student asked.

"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Zabini." Raising her wand, the old witch gave it a wave, then looked at everyone. "As you are no longer a part of your old Houses, your old House-colors no longer belong to you," she said, then stood there waiting for them to notice the change she'd made.

"Purple and..._orange_!" Ron Weasley burst. "_Great_!"

"Purple and _copper_, Mr. Weasley, are fine colors."

"Not with hair like mine," the redhead grumbled.

There were snickers from a few, but most looked equally unhappy about the color change. Draco Malfoy scowled—as did several others, but no one else said anything further about color.

"What about Quidditch?" Harry asked, equally disturbed by the changes and needing the comfort of something familiar—and so did several others, it would seem, because most perked up at the mention of their favorite extra-curricular activity.

"If you'd still like to play, and we hope that you do, you'll have to form your own House team."

With a glance over at Malfoy, Harry noticed that the blond had crossed his arms over his chest and was frowning—it was clear that his rival wasn't happy with the changes either, and this somehow pleased Harry even though he was in the same predicament.

"Who's our Head of House?" Malfoy suddenly asked.

Pursing her lips, McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the tall, blond-haired boy whose return to Hogwarts quite frankly surprised her. "You will not have one. As I said before, now that you're all of age, we'd like to think that we can trust you all to take care of yourselves."

At this Ron snorted. "I'd sooner trust an Acromantula," he mumbled.

"Is this going to be a problem, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, turning on the red-haired young man.

"Er...no." Then glancing at his new housemates, he frowned. "I mean...you do know that some of us aren't...friends?"

Headmistress McGonagall looked at the group—many were nodding, some with distress, others with concern—then back at the boy who'd commented. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, I am fully aware of that, but past rivalries end today! The war is over, so there is no longer a reason to be to be divided. As of _today_ you all are housemates and you _will_ behave as such. I want no displays of immaturity. You twenty will live here, _together_, in your new House, and you _will_ get along.

"Now, though you won't have a Head of House, one boy and girl from each of your former houses has been chosen as...Heads of House, for lack of a better term, and will be responsible for maintaining order. If there is some kind of dispute, you are to take it to one of your House Heads, so that he or she can discuss it with the rest of the House Heads and solve the problem. I do not want any quarrels brought to me or any disruptions within my school. I want you all to behave like the adults you now are. Is that understood?"

Everyone nodded—all but Hermione, whose hand shot up in the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"And how do these...House Heads rank within the school?"

"Similar to that of a Head Boy or Girl, except that neither of you shall override the other. Your House Heads will be above Prefects, but will be more or less equal to the Head Boy and Girl. Your House Heads will be allowed to discipline the younger students, including the seventh-years, and that means both awarding and taking away House-points when necessary. However, as I said, the main purpose of your House Heads will be to maintain order _within_ your own House, so I don't want to see them taking excessive interest in the goings on of the other years."

Hermione frowned. "And, how will the House Heads do that...maintain order, if they should, say...disagree?"

"Well, Miss Granger, they will have to figure that out, now won't they?"

Chewing on her lip, Hermione nodded—then she asked, "Will we also gain and lose points?"

Headmistress McGonagall nodded. "I am still considering the details on this. Obviously, this is completely unprecedented, so we are figuring this out as we go. I hope you can all bear with me."

Some students nodded, others shrugged noncommittally.

"Now. Before we get to room assignments, I want to say that though you are all officially adults, there are still some rules. First, I don't care what you do on the weekends, as long as you don't drink yourself dead, but there is to be no alcohol consumption on school nights. And further, if you do have a drink or two, on non-school nights, please drink responsibly. No wandering about the castle in a drunken state; this would set a poor example for the younger students."

Several eyes widened at the prospect of actually being _officially allowed_ to drink on school grounds. Most of them drank here and there—mostly on trips to Hogsmeade or during House parties—but they weren't really supposed to.

"Second. In the past, the girls' rooms were off-limits to the boys, and vice versa," the headmistress went on, "but that is no longer so. You are now allowed to enter each others' private space, but that does not mean that any funny business is acceptable. Everyone _must_ sleep in his/her assigned room.

"And third, I must insist that you always respect your roommate. If he or she wants or needs sleep and you do not, then the non-sleepy party should relocate to the common room until he or she is ready to bed down.

"Finally, aside from being required to be inside the castle by sunset on Sundays, you do not have a curfew. If you choose to stay up all night studying...or doing whatever else you choose to do...that is allowed. But there are to be no excuses about being tired. And, you may wander about the castle as well, if you choose, but please do not go into the other Houses after their curfews."

Smiling slightly, everyone nodded—the rules seemed fair to them. The year would certainly be different.

"Now. Room assignments," the headmistress said as she lifted her wand and gave it a wave, "have been done alphabetically. Downstairs rooms are for the House Heads." Instantly, the list of assignments appeared in mid air, but the woman called them out aloud anyway. "Downstairs rooms: Abbott and Brocklehurst, Granger and Greenhouse, Corner and Finch-Flechley, and Malfoy and Potter. Upstairs: Brown and Bulstrode, MacDougal and Malone, Parkinson and Roper, Longbottom and MacMillan, Rivers and Smith, and Weasley and Zabini. For both up and downstairs, girls are on the left and boys on the right. Any questions?"

Most students were frowning—most pointedly were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, who were scowling viciously at one another—but all shook their heads.

"Good then. Your belongings should already be in your rooms. You have approximately twenty-four hours to get settled. Further, I will expect to see you all in the Great Hall come evening tomorrow, for our traditional first meal...tomorrow_ is_ Tuesday, after all, so you will eat with everyone else."

The old witch eyed the ogling students—they looked to be on overload—then she went on. "You are, however, welcome to skip the sorting ceremony...if you wish. But, should you choose to attend, I expect the twenty of you to enter as one. If you come for the sorting, there should be no stragglers. If you do not wish to attend the sorting...and again, that is fine...not _one of you_ is the come for it. It should be a group decision, as you are now of one House." Pausing again, McGonagall looked at them worriedly; they looked horrified. "Now, is that understood?"

Each and every student nodded—and with that the headmistress swept through the twenty returning seventh-years, parting them like the Red Sea, leaving them all staring after her with looks of shock and confusion—and fury.

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><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

**Questions/comments** - I will answer, if I can! =) However, I will not beg for **reviews** (because I think that's weird), but that doesn't mean I don't want them, because I most _definitely_ DO want them...they help me know if I should bother continuing (though, I mostly write because there's so much shite going on in my head)...anyone? =)

**ETA:** Names you may not recognize (Malone, Roper, and Rivers) in this chapter will be explained later (I currently have eleven chapters completed, but want to see if there's any interest before posting them all)...I did NOT make them up (but they may or may not canon).

Name: **Minerva Athena McGonagall** - anyone notice that I essentially gave Headmistress McGonagall the same first and middle name? *giggle*

**Minerva** was the Roman goddess whom Hellenizing Romans from the 2nd century BC onwards equated with the Greek goddess Athena. She was the virgin goddess of poetry, medicine, wisdom, commerce, weaving, crafts, magic, and the inventor of music. She is often depicted with her sacred creature, an owl, which symbolizes her ties to wisdom.

**Athena** is the goddess of wisdom, civilization, warfare, strength, strategy, female arts, crafts, justice and skill. Minerva, Athena's Roman incarnation, embodies similar attributes. Athena is also a shrewd companion of heroes and the goddess of heroic endeavour. She is the virgin patron of Athens. The Athenians built the Parthenon on the Acropolis of her namesake city, Athens, in her honour (Athena Parthenos).

So, let's just give another **WARNING!** While this story _is_ **epilogue compliant**, there will be **NO **Harry/Ginny! There will be scenes with both of them in it, but they are NOT paired together in this fic.


	2. Roommates

**Posted:** 8 May, 2011

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><p><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<br>Chapter Two  
>"Roommates"<strong>

Picking up and shouldering the bag she'd dropped at her feet, Hermione headed for the alcove she assumed led to the room she'd be sharing with Daphne Greengrass, a _Slytherin_ girl with whom she'd not really had much contact.

_At least it's not Pansy Parkinson_, she thought in frustration—and pleasure—as she descended three steps and opened the first door she came to. Recognizing her trunk at the foot of a large four-poster hung with long, deep purple, velvet curtains with copper tasseled tie-backs, she sighed and entered the room. Setting her bag on her trunk, Hermione rolled her neck—to rid herself of the ache the stress of the day had given her—then pushed aside the bed curtain to reveal Crookshanks curled up in the center of her Gryffindor-colored bedding. Smiling, she scooped up her cat and cuddled him—then frowned at her bed. Glancing over her shoulder at her Slytherin roommate's bed—its curtains still closed—she assumed the other girl's bedding would be Slytherin green.

"Well, _this_ won't do," she said, talking to her cat. "If her comforter is _green_, it's going to look like a bloody circus in here." With that she set Crookshanks down at her feet, pulled out her wand and transfigured her own bedding to match that of her curtains—purple velvet on one side, copper silk on the other. Then, cocking her head, she added some copper-colored accents; ribbing around the edges of the comforter, some randomly placed suede buttons, and a few other accessories—a throw at the foot and several plump pillows at the head.

"There!" she said happily. "_Much_ better."

"Didn't take much to make you give up your House-pride," came a slightly derisive voice from behind her.

Turning, Hermione studied the other girl. Blonde and blue-eyed, Daphne Greengrass was quite pretty—stunningly so, if Hermione was honest with herself—and tall too. But that was neither here, nor there. At this point the Slytherin looked just as uncomfortable and nervous as Hermione herself was feeling, so Hermione didn't issue the terse retort she felt bubbling on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she shook her head vehemently and said, "I haven't lost my Gryffindor pride at all. I just..." With a frown, Hermione shrugged. "Purple, copper, scarlet, gold, and I'm assuming green and silver," she said with a nod at the other girl's closed off bed, "are _not_ my idea of colors that go well together."

Daphne glanced at her own four-poster, then back at her new roommate and frowned. "I suppose not."

"So, unless you're willing to go with red and gold..." Hermione let her words trail off.

Daphne shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Right then. So."

Daphne frowned again. "So...what?"

Hermione stared at the other girl, then said, "So, we're stuck with this...we might as well make the best of it." Watching the other girl for a moment, waiting for a response that wasn't coming, Hermione sighed, then headed for a door that she assumed to be the toilet. "I'll be quick in here," she said at the door, "then it's all yours."

Daphne eyed her roommate, then shrugged like she didn't care—but waited until the heavy wooden door clicked closed before going to her bed and pulling back the purple curtain to reveal her green-covered bed. Her brows pinching together, she glanced at the door Hermione, _Miss Know-It-All_, Granger had disappeared behind, then quickly made a decision to _make the best_ of things as well. Pulling out her own wand, she transfigured her own bedding to match that of the former Gryffindor's—with a few differences; where the Gryffindork had gone with velvet and silk, Daphne chose satin and lace.

**XoXoXoX**

Harry'd watched the others go. Ron had cast him a look of sympathy after saying, "Rotten luck, mate." And Harry could hardly _believe_ his luck, or lack thereof. Of all the blokes to get stuck with for an entire year, it _had_ to be Malfoy—the bane of his existence.

With a sigh, he headed in the direction the blond had gone—stalked off, was more like it. The first door he saw was wide open and he could see Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley bickering just inside the room. Apparently there was no love lost there either, he thought—with a smirk that he tried to hide when the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff boys turned and saw him standing there. With a scowl, the former reached out and slammed the door closed with a heavy _thud_, effectively cutting Harry off from witnessing any further argument.

"_This_ should be fun," he mumbled as he walked down a short hall toward the only other door. Just as he entered the room, another door, which he figured to be the toilet, closed with a snap. Rolling his eyes, Harry crossed the room to where his trunk was, opened it, rummaged around until he found his pyjamas, stripped and put them on, then slung aside the heavy, velvet—_purple_—curtain, flung back the familiar red bedding, and climbed into the same cotton sheets he'd slept on every other year.

"Not even going to clean your teeth, Potter? Figures."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Harry snapped, his green eyes going to and connecting with the other boy's cold gray ones.

"You wish!"

Reaching out, Harry grabbed the curtain and yanked it closed so that he'd not have to see his roommate's scowling face.

"Oh, very mature," the blond quipped. "I guess _some of us_ aren't as adult as that old bint would like to think."

Harry gnashed his teeth as he listened to the other boy's words against McGonagall, then he heard him rustling around in his trunk.

"I'll be in the shower, Potter...try not to spy on me if you decide to get your lazy arse out of bed to brush your teeth."

For several minutes after Malfoy left the room, Harry just lay there staring at himself in the mirrored canopy above him—then he decided that he _would_ like to go to bed with clean teeth. Pulling back the curtain, he slid out of bed, crossed to the bathroom door—which was cracked open—and entered silently. Casting one look at the oversized shower, Harry went to the counter—it had two copper sinks, of which Malfoy had chosen the one furthest from the door—and proceeded to do his business. He'd just finished wiping off his chin when a wet, blond head poked out of the top of the _purple_ shower curtain.

"Hand me that rinse there, would you, Potter."

"What? No _please_?" Harry said sarcastically as he glanced at all the products on the counter—there had to be at least fifteen bottles of...crap. "Geez, Malfoy, how much stuff do you need anyway? How am I supposed to know which one of these is...what did you call it? _Rinse_?"

Irritated, the blond rolled his eyes, then zipped the shower curtain open and walked—naked and dripping—across the bathroom, grabbed the _rinse_, then turned and padded back to the shower. "It's no wonder your hair looks the way it does, Potter, you don't take care of it."

Wide-eyed, Harry could only stare. It wasn't like he'd not seen other boys unclothed before, but...he'd never seen Malfoy, and he was shocked by what his rival had just done. And he couldn't help seeing a few other things. First, the Dark Mark on the blond's pale left forearm was clearly visible—though somewhat faded—as he reached for the bottle of rinse; second, a bracelet of a non-distinct charcoal gray color on the opposite arm of his Dark Mark; and last, a long, silver-ish scar that traversed from high in the center of the boy's chest across his ribs and down to his right hip—the result of the cutting hex Harry'd used on him in their sixth year. Harry remembered Snape saying that immediate treatment with Dittany would prevent scarring, but apparently it hadn't, or it hadn't been used in time. Frowning, Harry couldn't bring himself to move—until Malfoy's grating voice jerked him from his thoughts.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, pick your jaw up off the floor," Malfoy said from inside the shower—as if he knew Harry'd been staring at him.

Blushing furiously, Harry walked to the toilet and reached out and flushed it before he could change his mind, then hurried from the room with a grin when Malfoy started screaming obscenities. His grin still on his face when he got to his bed, Harry removed his glasses and climbed back in, then closed the curtain once again. He'd just yawned, his eyes closing when the velvet material surrounding him was roughly yanked open again.

"That wasn't fucking funny, Potter!"

Turning his head toward the light, Harry tried to focus on the other boy, but couldn't see much with his glasses off. "_I_ thought it was."

"You could have given me a myocardial infarction!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh _please_. Don't be so dramatic, Malfoy. No one has a heart attack from a little cold water in the shower."

"I _will_ get back at you."

Harry snorted. "Didn't think you wouldn't," he said. "But, don't you think you started it by hopping out of the shower buck naked? This isn't a nudist colony, you know."

"A _what_?"

"Never mind," Harry said—then he squinted. "What're you wearing, Malfoy?"

Glancing down at himself, Malfoy shrugged. "You're lucky I'm wearing anything at all, Potter. At home I usually sleep in the nude, but since this is a new place and I don't know how cold it gets at night, I decided to keep my shorts on."

Rolling his eyes again, Harry said, "_Fabulous_."

Malfoy smirked—though Harry couldn't see it. "I knew you were bent, Potter, but I thought it'd take a while before you made a pass at me."

"Get real, Malfoy. And get the fuck out!" Harry cursed as he sat up, grabbed his curtain, closed and charmed it—so he couldn't be bothered again—then flopped down and rolled over.

Laughing, Draco turned and moved toward his own bed.

**XoXoXoX**

"Looks like they gave me this one," Blaise Zabini said as he set down the rucksack he'd been carrying.

"Yeah, 'ppears so," Ron Weasley intoned, still standing in the doorway.

The dark-skinned Slytherin—ex—grinned. "We can switch if you'd prefer. I don't care...I guess."

Ron stared at the other boy suspiciously. "What's the catch, Zabini?"

"Nothin'. No catch. I'd _prefer_ the bed closest to the toilet, but if you want it, that's fine too."

Ron frowned, then shrugged. "Naw, you keep it," he said. "Say, you're...kind of easygoing, yeah?"

Blaise chuckled. "So they tell me," he said as he removed his robes, tossed it on his trunk, then started pulling things out of his bag. "Just because I'm Slytherin...er..._was_ Slytherin, doesn't mean I'm a complete arse. But, we can keep up the act if it makes you feel better, Weasley," he said with a teasing grin.

"Er...no," Ron almost choked. "Rather not, if it's all the same to you."

Zabini shrugged. "So...you dating the Mud...umm...I mean Granger?"

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Ah...yeah...what of it?"

Blaise shrugged. "Nothing. Just thought that...if she was _available_—"

"She's not!" Ron snapped.

"Check."

"She's _not_ available."

"Gotcha."

"Hermione's _mine_!" Ron said possessively, his face flushed.

Blaise grinned. "I heard you, Weasley," he said. "I'd _never_ cross that line on a mate."

Ron eyed him. "Yeah?"

"Of course not."

"All right." Taking a deep breath, Ron entered their room and went to his bed.

"But _exes_," Blaise said with a twinkle in his eye, "are fair game."

Turning to face his roommate, Ron grinned. "I used to date Lavender. You're quite welcome to her."

Blaise wrinkled his nose. "Ahh. No thanks."

"She's not so bad," Ron said as he started dumping out his bag, "if you don't mind the mushy nicknames."

Blaise laughed. "Again. No thanks."

"So, how long you think before Malfoy and Harry kill each other?" Ron asked after a short pause.

Blaise laughed hard at this. "You tell me, Wheeze. Potter's the one with the short fuse."

"No way, Zabini, Malfoy's been tormenting us since first year."

"Yeah, because Potter refused Draco's offer of friendship that first year," Blaise countered.

Ron frowned. "That can't be the sole reason."

Blaise shrugged. "It's a contributing factor."

"Malfoy's an arse."

"_Potter's_ an arse."

"Harry's my best mate, man, so...watch it!"

"Draco's had it rough...with a Death Eater father and all. Can you imagine having _that_ on your shoulders?"

Ron snorted. "Actually, no," he said. "Who in his or her right mind would choose that?"

"Do you really think it was a choice...even for Lucius Malfoy?"

Ron frowned. "I'd have died before doing what he did. He _should_ have died for it."

Blaise frowned. "Well he's paying for it now, isn't he?

"He's not in Azkaban...where he ought to be."

"Hey, Potter managed to see to that."

"Humph! Yeah, but house arrest isn't much of a punishment, is it?"

Blaise shrugged. "You do know there's more to it than that, right?"

Ron nodded. "It's still not fair."

"A lot's not fair."

Sighing, Ron said, "I lost my brother, Fred, you know? Do you remember him?"

Blaise nodded. "The twins were...classic."

Ron nodded, his face contorted with pain. "Yeah. I don't think George will ever be the same."

Then, after a long pause, Blaise said, "Draco's a lot of things, but he's not his father...and he's not evil."

"That remains to be seen."

"I suppose, but...just give him a chance, if you can."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "That's gonna be hard to do, Zabini."

"It's Blaise. I might've been Slytherin, but I'm no enemy of yours, Weasley...not one of my relatives aligned themselves with the Dark Lord. Not one."

Ron snorted. "On _our_ side, we call a spade a spade."

"Fine then. Not one Zabini supported..._Voldemort_, i-if you must k-know," he stuttered with a violent shudder.

Ron shivered at the name.

"Just remember that, just because I sorted Slytherin in first year, doesn't mean I was a supporter of...You-Know-Who."

Ron smiled despite himself. "Fine then..._Zabini_—"

"I told you...it's Blaise!"

"Right. Blaise. Then...you call me Ron."

Blaise nodded. "I can do that."

"Right."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"So, hate orange, do you?" Blaise said with a smirk as he watched Ron pull out and magic a Chudley Cannons poster onto the wall on his side of the room.

Glancing at the poster—which sported the players of his favorite team, all hovering on their brooms, the Seeker, Galvin Gudgeon, in the center waving, and the team's slogan, _Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best_, flashing just below the group—Ron shrugged. "It's a ghastly color on me, but..." Reaching into his trunk, he produced a Chudley Cannons' shirt and held it up. "Guess I don't hate it so much."

All Blaise could do was chuckle.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

**First**...IDK if anyone's experienced someone flushing a toilet when you're in the shower, but...SHITE that's not fun! Hogwarts probably doesn't have that problem, but I thought it would be funny anyway! :p

**Second**...Draco's bracelet is explained in another story of mine (Consequences of Foolish Wand Waving), but that story has only limited Harry Potter characters (it's about Snape getting a few women pregnant before he dies), so...don't read it if you're looking for JKR characters! Plus...that fic's not finished either. *sigh*


	3. Breakfast

**Posted: **11 May, 2011

* * *

><p><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<br>Chapter Three  
>"Breakfast"<strong>

Waking early—because she'd always been an early-riser—Hermione sat up, stretched and yawned, then pushed her curtain aside, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and got up. Being that her roommate appeared to still be asleep, she quietly padded to the toilet, used it, then left their shared room. At the top of the three steps that led back up to the common room, she glanced around. The room was _ginormous_—easily four times the size of the Gryffindor common room—and contained three blazing fireplaces and five separate sitting areas. Counting, because she was curious, Hermione found that there were exactly _twenty_ comfortable places to sit in the common room. And there were also two small study areas against the wall furthest from her—each table seating just four—and a grand piano not far in front of her.

Wandering into the room, Hermione passed the closest fireplace, then ran her fingers over the keys of the piano and glanced around the vast room. From this vantage point, she could easily see onto the boys' upstairs landing—no one seemed to be about—and above that to another landing that she wondered about since McGonagall hadn't mentioned it. Turning, she looked into the room behind her; it was the dining room, furnished with a large table and chairs—twenty of them, she was sure, even without counting—and several paintings. Two of the paintings were just still life—one a basket of fruit on a table, the other a large vase of Daffodils—one large painting was of a wizard wearing long purple robes and a tall pointed hat, and then there were four separate paintings depicting, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.

With a snort, she walked into the dining room and studied the paintings of those who'd built Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, wondering if they'd move like most of the other paintings in the school. Sadly, they did not—or maybe that was a good thing, because...did they _really_ need or want input from Hogwarts' founders? She knew she'd have a few choice things to say to them if she could, and that it was probably better that she could not. Eyeing the paintings one last time, Hermione pushed open the only door in the room and found herself in the kitchen.

Though significantly larger than her parent's kitchen at home, it was not an overly large kitchen. It had just three counter spaces, one with a sink and one with a Muggle-looking cooker, and straight in front of her was a door—to a magicked cool closet, she assumed.

Opening the first cupboard on her right, Hermione found it full of flatware—the drawer below teeming with silverware. Another cupboard—this one on her left—was filled with ceramic mugs, all of which were different. Smiling, Hermione grabbed one, then pulled out her wand and inscribed her name on the side—just to be safe—then quickly went to the sink for some water. After drinking her fill, she set her cup down on a towel she'd found in a drawer, then started rummaging for food.

Forty minutes later, the kitchen in shambles, she grinned at the massive amounts of food she'd managed to cook; eggs—scrambled, because that was easiest—bacon, sausage, fried bread, and baked beans. It was enough for twenty—or more—but now she needed help.

"Where's a house-elf when you need one?" she mumbled, ignoring the niggling feeling that she shouldn't be even considering the use of a house-elf. Then shrugging, because no one else seemed to be awake anyway, she filled her own plate, covered the rest, and went into the dining room to eat alone.

But she wasn't alone for long.

"_Hermione_?"

Looking up, Hermione smiled. "Morning, Ron," she said after swallowing.

"You cooked?"

She nodded—because her mouth was full again—and pointed toward the kitchen with her empty fork. "Help yourself."

Ron, not one to turn down a meal, hurried from the room and returned shortly, his plate overflowing. Sitting at the corner of the table to Hermione's right, he instantly started shoveling food into his mouth. "Mmm. This is great!" he said through his food. "I'm starved."

Hermione watched him for a minute, then rolled her eyes. She'd never seen anyone eat quite like Ron did.

"I didn't know you could cook," he went on. After emptying half his plate, he managed to slow down a bit.

"Well, I'm nothing compared to your mum, but...I'm good in a pinch."

"No. You're good. Better than good. This is great!"

Hermione grinned, pleased that he thought so. She wanted to scold him for his abysmal table manners, but held her tongue.

"What _is_ that smell?" came a boy's voice from the dining room entrance. "Oh Merlin, that smells delicious!"

"Hey, Blaise," Ron said cheerfully, his fork on its way to his mouth again. "_'Ermione_ cooked."

"_Please_ say there's enough for me," the boy said. "Cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice on the train does not a meal make."

"Sure, mate, there's plenty," Ron answered before Hermione had a chance—which caused her to look at him funny...not because he answered for her, but because he'd called Blaise Zabini...a _Slytherin_...mate.

"There should be enough for everyone, if _someone_ doesn't eat it all," she finally said, her eyes going to Ron and his now empty plate—a plate she knew he'd want to refill—to the dark-skinned boy who was her boyfriend's roommate.

"What? Who? _Me_?" said Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then let them settle on the redhead. "Yes _you_, Ronald! I cooked a lot of food, but this isn't the Great Hall with an endless supply of food. Save some for everyone else."

Blushing, Ron said, "Just one more plate?" Then grinned when his girlfriend sighed.

Blaise chuckled, then headed for the kitchen—and Ron followed him.

The next to arrive were Hannah Abbott and Mandy Brocklehurst.

"We smelled food," one of them said.

"Granger cooked," Blaise informed them as he came out of the kitchen and, without thinking, sat down next to his roommate.

The girls grinned and rushed to get theirs.

Then the rest of the upstairs boys arrived—followed quickly by all six upstairs girls.

At this point there was some confusion. Hannah and Mandy had just come out of the kitchen and, making a move to go behind Hermione to the seats against the back wall, they seemed to be stopped by an unseen force.

"What's wrong?" Ron ask through another mouth of food.

Mandy frowned and attempted another step, to no avail. "I can't...move."

Behind her, Hannah said, "That's funny, neither can I." Then the former Hufflepuff girl took a step backward—and then another. "I seem to be able to go _this_ way," she said. Turning slowly, she made her way down the end of the table. She passed behind Blaise and the chair next to him, but couldn't seem to move beyond that. "I guess _this_ is my seat."

Mandy, still standing where she'd been struggling against _nothing_, stopped and followed her roommate—but she got stopped at the chair next to Blaise.

"I guess this table has a brain of its own," the boy said, a twinkle in his dark, slightly-slanted eyes.

Frowning, Hermione watched the next few students enter the dining room. Neville came out next and chose the correct direction. Turning right out of the kitchen, and then left around the table, he immediately went to the seat next to Hannah Abbott and sat down—which didn't surprise Hermione at all since she knew Neville fancied the girl. Next out was Ernie MacMillan; he too chose correctly—as did Quincy Rivers and Zacharias Smith. Millicent Bulstrode, however, did not. She tried to go behind Hermione, but quickly halted in her tracks. This caused Zabini to cackle a laugh, and Millicent's face to go red.

"It's not funny, Blaise!" the black-haired girl snapped. "What the bloody hell did you do?"

"_Me_? Why would you blame _me_?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Maybe because you're the only one _laughing_, you dolt! Besides, you're the prankster here."

"It really isn't funny, Zabini," Hermione said after swallowing a bite of egg. She then glanced up at the angry Slytherin girl. "There seems to be something making us sit at the table in...some kind of order. What the order is exactly, I've yet to figure out." Then pointing, she said, "You have to go that way."

Millicent scowled down at the Gryffindor. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, Mudblood?"

"HEY!" Ron burst, quickly standing to defend Hermione's honor. "I'll not take any of that talk from you or anyone else, you—"

"Ron!" Hermione cut him off, her hand on his forearm. "It doesn't matter."

Millicent smirked.

"No, it _does_ matter," Ron argued as he glared over at Millicent Bulstrode. "You might've been able to get away with that shite before, but not anymore, you stupid bi—"

"Ronald! _Please_," begged Hermione, her eyes filling.

"—nt!" Ron finished.

Clearing his throat, Blaise nodded. "I'm going to have to agree with my roommate. None of us are going to survive this year of we resort to name-calling at every turn. Whether we like each other or not is irrelevant, we need to find a way to respect each other," he said, his eyes trained on the Slytherin girl who'd started the name-calling, then shifting to Ron because he'd continued it.

Millicent narrowed her eyes at her former housemate, then glared at Hermione. "Looks like you have _two_ defenders, _Granger_," she said sarcastically, her eyes sparking angrily. "How'd you manage _that_ so quickly?"

"I've an idea," Pansy Parkinson said as she strode into the room. "Spend the night upstairs with the boys last night, did you, _Granger_?" the pug-faced girl with a lascivious smirk. "Really, Blaise, are you double-teaming again?"

At this Hermione's jaw dropped open, but no sound came out. Ron, on the other hand, reacted by first blushing, then clenching his fists, and finally by shouting. "That's just..._DISGUSTING_!"

Both Slytherin girls laughed heartily. "To _you_ maybe," they said in unison. "But don't knock it until you've tried it," Parkinson went on, her eyes narrowing on Ron before shifting to Hermione again. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Granger," she said with a shake of her head. "And after McGonagall _forbade_ us from _sleeping_ in other rooms."

"I...I didn't. I..." Hermione sputtered.

"I thought we'd established that they _didn't_ get any sleep last night," Millicent taunted, her words directed at her Slytherin friend.

Pansy nodded. "Indeed we di—"

"That's _enough_!" Blaise cut in, anger on his usually pleasant face.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him, then moved to sit next to Millicent—but the chair wouldn't pull out.

"Try the next one, Pans," Blaise said sweetly, then grinned when Lavender Brown came out of the kitchen—almost skipping—and was able to place herself between Millicent and Pansy. This was humorous to him because he knew both of his ex-Slytherin counterparts couldn't _stand_ the blonde dingbat Gryffindor. Catching Hermione's eye, he winked, which made the tearful girl smile.

Next out of the kitchen was Sophie Roper, then came Lila Malone and Morag MacDougal. After some confusion at the unseen force, they quickly found the correct way around the table—and that was just as Daphne Greengrass came gliding into the room, followed quickly by a bickering Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Umm. Anyone need more juice?" Hermione asked, instantly on her feet. But she didn't wait for a response, as she wanted to warn the three new arrivals about the seating arrangements.

"You're a spoilsport, Granger, you know that?" Blaise commented after watching first Daphne, then the Ravenclaw boy, and finally the Hufflepuff boy file behind him and around to their seats.

"You've had your fun, Zabini," Hermione said as she set a carafe of juice down in front of the boy, then moved down the table to put out the other two she'd brought out. "We're going to have enough difficulty without laughing at each other. Didn't you just make that quite clear?"

Blaise huffed. "I suppose, but...laughter is good for the soul."

Snorting as she seated herself again, Hermione frowned at the two empty seats beside her and addressed the room at large. "So...has anyone seen Harry or Malfoy this morning?"

Everyone just sort of stopped moving, some mid-chew, others with their forks halfway to their mouths.

"Um. Draco sleeps rather late on the days he doesn't have to be in class," Pansy said—then resumed eating.

"Harry too," Ron said. "You know that 'Ermione."

"Yeah, but..." Her frown remained. "But that was...before the events of last year and...before they had to share a room."

"And you know Harry's worthless before he's had some coffee," Neville threw in, trying to be helpful.

At this Pansy snorted and opened her mouth to comment—on Harry's worthlessness, no doubt—but Ron stopped her. "Not a word, Parkinson!" he snapped, his wand drawn and pointed down the table.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy mumbled, "You _Gryffindorks_ make it _so_ bloody easy!" then scowled and shoved a bite of bacon into her mouth.

"Do you think we should check on them?" Hermione asked, clearly worried. "I mean, what if...what if they got into a fight last night or something."

"Naw, they'll be fine, Granger," Blaise said, then pointed. "See? Here comes Potter now."

"HARRY!" Hermione exclaimed, popping up again and grabbing his hand as he came into the dinning room.

"Coffee," was all he said.

Laughing—along with a few others—Hermione dragged him into the kitchen to get him set up.

"Your girlfriend's spoiling all my fun, Ron," Blaise complained, knowing that the girl would be telling her friend how to get to his seat. And sure enough, Potter knew which way to go when he came out of the kitchen. "Think she'll let me get a laugh at Draco's expense?" Blaise whispered to Ron while Hermione was busy pouring Potter some juice.

Ron shook his head. "I doubt it. Git that he is, she'll probably _still_ defend him."

"Humph!" huffed Blaise. "Interesting though."

"Just wait 'til she starts going on about schoolwork," Ron said as he lifted his fork to his mouth.

Hermione frowned. "I just want you to do well, Ronald," she said, her voice ringing with exasperation.

"I do fine."

Snorting, Hermione sat down again.

"So. Potter," said Blaise. "Where's Draco?"

His face buried in his coffee cup, Harry looked up at Zabini. "In the shower..._again_."

"You keeping track of Draco's showers, Potter?" Pansy asked, her voice full of derision.

"Um. _Nooo_. It's just that he showered last night and now he's showering again. Bit much, don't you think?" Then to Blaise he went on. "Have you _seen_ all that shit he puts on his hair? Merlin, he's worse than a girl."

Blaise chuckled. "Tell me about it."

"You could take some lessons on hair, Potter," Pansy said after scowling at Blaise. "At least Draco knows what a hairbrush is."

At this Lavender giggled.

Running his fingers through his completely disheveled and unruly hair, which currently stood up on end because he'd not bothered with it before leaving his room, Harry looked only slightly embarrassed—he was used to being teased about how messy it was. But no amount of brushing helped, so he didn't even bother responding to the spiteful girl.

And then Draco Malfoy sauntered through the common room and into the dining room—looking and smelling squeaky clean.

Noticing immediately that he was the last one to breakfast, Draco hoped the house-elves had brought up enough food—he knew how some of the other Houses ate and scowled with disgust. Weasley, in particular, was quite the pig. Then, seeing only one empty place at the table—between Potter and Granger—Draco frowned and headed into the kitchen, wondering how that managed to be the only seat available and why _Potter_ hadn't taken the seat next to his Mudblood friend.

Frowning at his thoughts, Draco paused his movement. After what had happened at the end of the previous school year, he'd sworn to himself that he'd never use the word Mudblood again...and here he was, _thinking_ it. _Old habits die hard_, he supposed, but pledged to himself that the word would not pass his lips ever again. He still thought himself—a pureblood—to be better than those who were not, but there was no sense in rubbing in blood status; he'd seen what that kind of thing could do and he didn't want to go there anymore.

Pleased to find there was still plenty of food—and confused by the fact that it clearly hadn't been brought in by house-elves—Draco filled his plate, then grabbed some coffee and headed into the dining room. He only got two steps out when Granger pushed her chair back far enough to prevent his passing.

"What the hell, Granger? Let me pass."

"I'm doing you a favor," she said. "Go the other way."

A plate in one hand and a mug in the other, Draco just stared down at her. He couldn't believe he had just been mentally chiding himself about calling the girl a Mudblood. _Such an uncivilized lot_, he thought with a sigh of frustration as he turned and walked around the table. But when he got all the way around, he stopped and stared down at his roommate. "Move over, Potter."

"Can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Just can't. The table won't let me," the black-haired boy said without looking up.

"Pfft!"

"He's not lying, Draco," Pansy confirmed from her place at the far end of the table. "We're all sitting where we are because we were forced to."

It was then that Draco realized who each of his Slytherin brethren were sitting beside. "Great!" he said as he moved to the empty seat, put down his plate and mug, then pulled out the chair and gracefully lowered himself into it. Once he was sitting, he pulled out his napkin and placed it on his lap, then adjusted his plate so that it was _just so_—then frowned in shock when Granger handed him a carafe of juice.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," Hermione said with forced politeness before getting up and taking her dishes into the kitchen.

"Wow! This is great!" Draco said after swallowing just a single bite. "Looks like _someone_ knows how to cook. Who was it? _Mmm_. Oh Merlin, I think I'm in love."

Blaise snickered when Ron growled.

Harry grinned. "Watch it, Malfoy, I think you've touched a nerve."

"Yeah, we've already established that Ronald here doesn't share," Blaise put in.

Draco just frowned—then looked over when Pansy started choking. "_Granger_ made us all breakfast?" the she burst once her airway was no longer obstructed. "_Granger_ did this?"

"What did I do?" Hermione asked as she walked back into the room with more coffee.

"_You_ made breakfast?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, I did," she said. "More coffee anyone?"

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Okay, I realize that the "unseen force" that prevented them from going behind the table probably would have either toppled their plates onto the floor or smashed them into their person—making quite a mess—but..._magic_! Let's just say that there's enough shite going on, so I decided against making that happen. =)

**ETA **(just a while after posting this chapter...because I promised that it would be with chapter three)**:**

Please note that I've tried to keep canon with character names. There are some, however, that I had to rely on the Lexicon (and even give first names to and sort the few that JKR did not). Here are the names by House (in ABC order), according to JKR (and the Lexicon):

**Gryffindor:**

Brown, Lavender  
>Finnigan, Seamus<br>Granger, Hermione  
>Longbottom, Neville<br>Malone (Moon), Lila (Lil) – see Lexicon explanation below  
>Patil, Parvati<br>Potter, Harry  
>Runcorn, Olivia – see Lexicon explanation below<br>Thomas, Dean  
>Weasley, Ronald<p>

**Hufflepuff:**

Abbott, Hannah  
>Bones, Susan<br>Cornfoot, Stephen  
>Finch-Fletchley, Justin<br>Hopkins, Wayne  
>Jones, Megan<br>MacMillan, Ernie  
>Perks, Sally-Anne – see Lexicon explanation below<br>Roper, Sophie – see Lexicon explanation below  
>Smith, Zacharias<p>

**Ravenclaw:**

Boot, Terry  
>Brocklehurst, Mandy<br>Corner, Michael  
>Entwhistle, Kevin<br>Goldstein, Anthony  
>Li, Su<br>MacDougal, Morag  
>Patil, Padma<br>Rivers, Quincy – see Lexicon explanation below  
>Turpin, Lisa<p>

**Slytherin:**

Bulstrode, Millicent  
>Crabbe, Vincent (dead)<br>Davis, Tracey  
>Goyle, Gregory<br>Greengrass, Daphne  
>Malfoy, Draco<br>Nott, Theodore  
>Parkinson, Pansy<br>Spinks, Darla – see Lexicon explanation below  
>Zabini, Blaise<p>

**Lexicon Explanation:**

Unnamed and Unsorted — Moon, Perks, Rivers, Roper, Runcorn and Spinks **(my comments are in parentheses-and in bold-following the Lexicon information)**

That leaves six students for whom we don't have a House, and six empty House spots (two each in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, one each in Ravenclaw and Slytherin).

**Moon** is present at the Sorting, but we don't learn this student's name or House. The classlist shows that her first name began with the letters "**Lil**…," suggesting "Lillian" or "Lilith" (I don't believe JKR would give a minor character the same name as Harry's mother). This is a highly evocative name: Lilith was a Persian night-demon, and there are apocryphal but persistent legends that she was the first wife of Adam; while "Lillian" is yet another "lily" name. **(I'm calling her Lila Malone—see Malone two paragraphs below—and sorted her into Gryffindor.)**

The name "**Moon**" might have been intended to remind us of the moon — it could be that this character was a proto-Luna, hence axed once JKR had decided to put Luna in a different year from Harry. However, the surname didn't originally refer to the moon: it is probably a corruption of the Irish "**O'Mochain**," and means something like "punctual!" That would suggest an orderly, somewhat dull person, in startling contrast to her fascinating first name. Perhaps she is the prototypical quiet student whose reserve hides a wealth of imagination and inner secrets.

JKR apparently considered calling this student "**Malone**," which is also an Irish name and means "bald John" — the original John being bald because he was a monk. The names "Malone" and "Moon" predominate in the fair city of Dublin, suggesting that Miss Moon lives in Ireland's capital, the home of U2 and Riverdance, and the centre of fine linen and crystal. If she hasn't been distracted by Muggle sports such as Irish rugby and greyhound racing, she would support the Kenmare Kestrels.

**Sally-Anne Perks** cannot be in Ravenclaw, where the girls' dormitory is full. Following an intuition about how JKR named her characters, I would say she is unlikely to be in Slytherin (because "Perks" sounds too much like "Parkinson") and unlikely to be in Gryffindor (because we already have two surnames beginning with P in Gryffindor). The name "Sally-Anne" has an honest, straightforward sound that will work well in Hufflepuff. "Sally," a diminutive of "Sarah," means "princess," while "Anne," meaning "grace," was the name of JKR's mother. "Perks" is "son of Peter," and indicates a homeland in the West Midlands — let's say in the historic town of Shrewsbury in Shropshire, a good spot from which to support the Tutshill Tornados (located near JKR's childhood home in Chepstow). **(Though not in my story—as of this point—I sorted her into Hufflepuff.)**

**Rivers**, denoting a person who "lives near the river," is a name found in the south of England. After eliminating unsuitable locations, we can place this student among the apple orchards of Kent, surely the county that inspired the song about English gardens, perhaps in the famous cathedral city of Canterbury itself. Unfortunately, the name "Rivers" is too ambiguous to tell us much about the student. It might indicate a person who is elementally necessary in providing the "water of life." Alternatively, JKR's first thought for this student's name began with "**Qui**…," so we find ourselves thinking of Professor Quirrell, who quivers and quakes in a mock-fear that hides his lust for power. "Rivers" might also denote a weak temperament, unstable as water — a river is always moving but it cannot hold or define its own shape. **(I'm calling him Quincy Rivers, because I couldn't come up with another Qui-starting name that seemed plausible, and I sorted him into Ravenclaw.)**

**Roper** indicates a "rope-maker," a humble craftsman who performs honest labour. One wonders whether this character is supposed to be "ropable" (gullible), or whether she is a Slytherin who metaphorically holds the hangman's rope. Her first name begins with the letters "**So**…"; perhaps this is "Sophie," from the Greek word for "wisdom." She would live in Yorkshire, in a town such as Harrogate or Barnsley. These towns thrived on the textile and coal industries, but they underwent serious economic hardships in the 1980s when these staple industries were closed. Barnsley was even dubbed the "worst town in Britain." Miss Roper's parents may have suffered the hardships of long-term unemployment, and they certainly taught their daughter to save her pennies. **(I'm calling her Sophie Roper and sorted her into Hufflepuff.)**

**Runcorn**, meaning "wide bay," is a small town in Cheshire. Since the surname would have been given to a person who had moved away from Runcorn, but probably didn't move very far, it is not surprising that this name is found predominantly in Liverpool. This industrial and docklands city is the traditional home of working people. The stereotypical Liverpudlian is independent, almost abrasive, and has a talent for survival — it is no accident that this city produced the Beatles. **(I gave her the name Olivia and sorted her into Gryffindor—though it [Gryffindor] probably doesn't fit—but she's not in this fic, at this point, so who cares, right? Note: Runcorn, Albert is the name of the man who most probably turned in Dirk Cresswell, who'd faked his family tree so as not to come under suspicion when the Ministry started persecuting Muggle-borns in Death Hallows. Cresswell got away on his way to Azkaban by stunning Auror Dawlish, but was evidently caught and killed later on. In the movie, Runcorn might have been the one who turned in Mary Elizabeth Cattermole, and he his the man that Harry Polyjuiced into. He probably wasn't a Death Eater, but did follow the lead of the Death Eaters when they took over the Ministry. His daughter, who I'm calling Olivia, probably should have been Slytherin, but there was only one Slytherin spot available and I put Spinks there.)**

**Spinks**. This name is found in eastern England: by a process of elimination, we can place Spinks in Lincolnshire. This county is considered something of a backwater — literally, for of course it is home to the Fens, but also metaphorically. While Lincoln has a glamorous cathedral and castle, Boston hosts a huge annual fair, Gainsborough has interesting historical connections, and the countryside is littered with R.A.F. bases, in general the pretty buildings and flat farmlands are associated with a depressed economy, a slow-paced lifestyle and a general absence of action. "Spinks" means a "chaffinch," and it was a name given to a cheerful person. Perhaps the student Spinks is even a talented singer. Let us hope he or she can combine magic, music and optimism to create his or her own stimulation. **(I gave her the name Darla—and sorted her into Slytherin, because of her home, Lincolnshire, which is "home to the Fens," **_**and**_** because JKR considered giving Draco this last name, then changed it—but she's not in this fic at this point.)**


	4. The Vote

**Posted:** 14 May, 2011

* * *

><p><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<br>Chapter Four  
>"The Vote"<strong>

Harry was sound asleep when he was rudely awakened by a door thudding closed. Opening his eyes, he stared at his own blurry image in the mirror above him, his heart hammering from being jolted awake by such a loud noise. Then, hoping that perhaps Malfoy had left their room—instead of entered it—he closed his eyes again.

No such luck. Not quite a minute later the door slammed again—this time harder.

"You really are a lazy arse, aren't you, Potter?"

Groaning, Harry reached under his pillow and, finding what he was looking for, grabbed his wand, then sat up and threw back the privacy curtain. "_Accio_ glasses," he called—then to the annoying blond boy he said, "What the fuck _do you want_, Malfoy?"

"Learned a few words over the summer, have we?"

Harry just stared at the other boy, wondering what would happen—what the consequences would be—if he sent a hex at his sneering roommate.

"Aren't you even going to shower before our sodding _meeting_, Potter?" Malfoy went on. "I mean, _look at you_...do you always have bed head?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead he adjusted his glasses and hopped out of bed, then headed for the toilet—wondering when and why Malfoy had reverted back to the _boy_ he'd been prior to the war. Though, Harry wasn't sure which was worse, the mean boy who'd spent _years_ tormenting him and his friends, or the angst-filled young man who'd been forced to join the ranks of Voldemort in their sixth year.

"Finally!" Draco went on as he followed his roommate into the bathroom.

Harry first went to the shower and turned it on, then opened the door that led to the actual toilet. But before he could close the door, he saw the other boy still standing there. "What? Were you going to come in and hold it for me?"

Malfoy stared for a moment longer, then scowled, turned, and walked out.

Chuckling, because Harry found Malfoy's face, pinched with disgust, quite amusing, he used the toilet, then stripped and stepped into the shower, thinking that the year was going to seem _endless_ if he had to keep fending off Malfoy's snarky comments—and coming up with retorts of his own—and possibly always having to watch his back for Malfoy's spiteful hexes. In years past it was just part of his existence, but _now_...now things were different, and not just because he was sharing a House and room with his long-time rival. After all he'd been through in the last few months, he just wanted some peace and quiet.

_Good luck with that_, he thought to himself.

For several minutes—probably close to twenty—Harry just stood under the spray of the shower, letting the hot water turn his somewhat summer-tanned skin slightly pink as he thought about...things. In the months since Voldemort's demise he'd not been required to stay at his aunt and uncle's house—not that they'd have let him now that he was of age—but that didn't mean he'd been completely free to do whatever he'd wanted. Because of who he was—The-Boy-Who-Lived—and all, there were...expectations. Immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts, he, Ron, and Neville had spent the summer working for Kingsley Shacklebolt, to help the Minister for Magic and the Aurors apprehend the rest of Voldemort's followers—and there were many of them. The job still wasn't done—there would probably always be Death Eaters they couldn't capture—but, when he received his letter from Hogwarts, offering him the chance to finish his education, he'd jumped at the chance to go back and have one last year as "a child" before having to officially grow up and take on the responsibilities of being an adult—whatever _that_ meant! He did still want to be an Auror, but—not yet. He'd promised Kingsley though, that he'd be back, and that he'd help reform the Ministry. But that would be next year.

But that wasn't all he'd done over the summer. He'd also had to make several public appearances; some he'd made freely—like testifying at the Malfoys' trials and working to gut out the Black house, which he'd been living in—and others he'd been almost forced to do. Interviews for the _Daily Prophet_ still weren't among his favorite things to do—probably never would be. All he'd _really_ wanted to do was rest...just rest and sleep—but that didn't seem to be in the cards. Such was the life of Harry James Potter.

His wet hair plastered to his head, Harry reached for the shampoo—only realizing after he'd dumped some into his hand and smeared it on his head that he'd used Malfoy's.

"Damn it!" he hissed, angry that he'd made such a mistake. Quickly scrubbing his head, Harry rinsed, deciding that he'd just have to rewash it with his own. Then growling, he remembered that he'd not brought it into the bathroom. "Bollocks!"

Mentally, he blamed Malfoy for this—because the idiot had woken him up, which had in turn completely thrown him off—but he also knew he should have unpacked before trying to get some sleep. He didn't know why he was so tired. He'd gone to bed early the night before and slept in plenty. And strangely enough, despite the fact that he'd had to eat with the rest of their House—several of whom he could hardly stand—_and_ sit next to Malfoy, he'd very much enjoyed Hermione's breakfast that morning. And for most of the day after breakfast, he'd done nothing. He'd lounged some, played a game of wizard chess with Ron, lounged some more, read a chapter from a Muggle book he'd picked up over the summer—and lounged yet again—before finally retreating to his room to take an official nap. He'd woken up a few times, thinking that he ought to get up and do a few things. But in the end, he'd just been feeling too damned lazy, so the fact that he'd not brought his own things into the bathroom was really no one's fault but his own. Not that that made him feel any better.

_Now I'll have to spend the rest of the day smelling like _him_!_ Harry thought with frustration as he turned off the water and toweled himself dry.

After running the towel over his head, Harry wrapped it around his hips and put is glasses back on, then picked up his comb and struggled it through his unmanageable hair, which was a bit long these days—he'd let it grow since Hermione had trimmed it while they'd been looking for Horcruxes. All that took only moments—he'd given up trying to tame his hair ages ago and just settled for letting it do its thing. Luckily, the length helped some, but not completely. Hoping Malfoy had left their room, Harry pulled the door open and stepped into the room—and immediately came face to face with the ferret.

For a second they stared at one another, then Harry went to his trunk and started rooting around for some clothing.

"You really ought to hang all that up, Potter," Malfoy said as he plopped down on his own bed, "or everything's going to get wrinkled."

"Too late!" Harry snapped as he pulled out a shirt and a pair of Muggle jeans and gave them a hearty shake, then started tossing the rest of his belongings on his bed—until he found his undergarments, and a _lovely_ purple and copper tie. Grabbing his shorts, he glanced at the other boy, hoping he'd turn his head—or just _leave_. But when he didn't, Harry scowled, then whipped the towel off and pulled on, first his shorts, and then his jeans.

Rolling is eyes, the blond got up—he'd been lying on his bed, propped up on an elbow—then grabbed his wand and gave it a wave.

Wide-eyed, Harry watched as his wardrobe opened and his clothing sort of danced into it, his shoes following.

"Did you forget you're a wizard?" Malfoy asked with some amount of disgust as he flicked his wrist. This caused all of the clothing in Harry's wardrobe to straighten themselves out—everything now looked freshly pressed.

Harry shrugged. "_No_. I just don't usually use magic to do things I'm perfectly capable of doing by hand."

"You're _such_ a Muggle!" Malfoy said—then turned and entered the bathroom. But he quickly reappeared. "Did you use my shampoo?"

"Er...yeah. Left mine out here," Harry said as nonchalantly as he was capable. Then, embarrassed, he mumbled an apology.

Malfoy looked put out. "Weren't you, just this morning, complaining about _all that shit_ I put on my hair?"

Harry stared at him. "How did you know I—"

"Pansy has a big mouth," Malfoy said, effectively cutting Harry off. "Might want to watch what you say in front of her."

Harry frowned as he considered Malfoy's..._advice_? Then he almost laughed at the very idea of considering _anything_ Malfoy had to say.

"Well...don't make a habit of it," the blond said, "Mother orders it from France"—as if it mattered to anyone else, but him.

"You don't say," Harry snorted as he pulled his shirt on, buttoned it up by hand, then started working on his _lovely_ purple and "copper"—orange—striped tie. "I couldn't tell by all the _French_ on the bottle.

Malfoy narrowed his gray eyes. "Don't use it, Potter. That stuff's too expensive for the likes of _you_...and that mop you call hair."

"You're such a prat, Malfoy. Like _you_ have to worry about how much things cost."

"Totally not the point, _Potter_."

"Look..._Malfoy_, I said I was sorry."

"Still, it's the principle of the whole thing. I think you owe me."

Harry stared at him. "For using a Sickle-sized amount of your bloody hair product?"

Malfoy nodded.

"I don't think so," Harry said with a shake of his head as he plopped down on his bed to put on his socks and trainers. "Besides, I'm gonna smell like you until I can shower again and wash the smell of that girly shit out...I think that's punishment enough!"

"Well, _I_ don't."

"Oh, _for Merlin's sake_, Malfoy, would you just shut it!" Harry snarled—then frowned when he looked up into Draco Malfoy's gray eyes. Where he'd thought he'd see a familiar cold detachment, he saw...something else. Then he realized that Malfoy wasn't being at all serious—which was totally disconcerting. They'd spent the last seven years tormenting the living hell out of one another—and nearly killing each other in the process—and now _this_? Harry didn't know what to think. The only thing he did think was that this was just too weird.

"You going to dry that...hair?" Malfoy continued.

"Nope."

"But it's still dripping."

"Yep."

"You're getting the floor wet."

Sighing, Harry stood up and, as he passed his roommate, he gave his head a violent shake—which caused a multitude of tiny water droplets to fly from his head and onto the other boy. "There! Now it's not dripping as much," he said with a grin as he exited their room.

**XxXxXxX**

In the common room, Hermione was attempting to take control. She'd magicked all the furniture so that it was in a semi-circle—so that they could discuss how they'd proceed that evening—and most were sitting, some on the chairs and couches, others on the arms of them. _She_ wanted to attend the sorting ceremony, so that she could see all the new first-year Gryffindors and know them by name—not that it mattered anymore since she wasn't actually _in_ Gryffindor House anymore—but several others, saying it didn't matter anymore, had expressed a desire to wait until after the ceremony had concluded.

"We should _be_ there," she protested. "We've _always_ been there and this is our last chance."

Ron snorted. "We wouldn't be missing much, 'Ermione," he said, making it obvious that he didn't want to go. "And Harry and I _have_ missed it before; it's no big deal."

"Yes it is, Ronald, and that's _just_ my point...this is our last one, our _last_ sorting ceremony. We should be there because, _someday_ we're going to miss this." [1]

Lavender nodded. "Hermione's right, Ron. We should go."

Hermione smiled. She and Lavender had never been friends—mostly because Lavender was a giggler and she was annoying, but also because she'd dated Ron during their sixth year, and _that_ was annoying too—but she was glad for the support. And Hermione _did_ have a certain amount of respect for her former housemate; she did, after all, fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. "Thank you, Lavender." And then to Ron, she said, "And, if you remember correctly, a lot of us missed last year's...we need to go this year."

Several girls, including Daphne, Morag, and Lila, nodded. "I _would_ like to be there," Daphne said.

"Me too," said Ernie. "My sister's getting sorted tonight; I should be there."

"Well, _I_ don't want to go," Zacharias said, folding his arms over his chest. "Who cares about first years!"

Hermione frowned at the insensitive boy. Ernie Macmillan had _just_ said he wanted to be there for his sister and Zacharias just _had_ to be rude. He wasn't a favorite of hers anyway. When the fighting had started during the Battle of Hogwarts, he'd run for the hills—he was the only member of D.A. who _didn't_ fight and...Hermione thought him a coward.

"Me neither," Justin added with a shake of his curly head while Hermione was thinking about Zacharias' winning disposition. "We okay, Ernie?" Justin asked his best friend.

Ernie shrugged. "No worries, mate."

"I'd rather not attend either," Neville said quietly. "Sorry Hermione."

Hermione shrugged, but she was clearly disappointed.

"I'm a no too," Mandy put in.

"Us too," Pansy said, indicating herself and Millicent, who was nodding.

Frowning, because she got the distinct feeling that Pansy and Millicent were just voting 'no' to spite her, Hermione looked at another girl.

"I'd rather wait too," Sophie said.

"Me too," Hannah whispered, her eyes going to Neville.

Frowning again, because she really wanted to go, Hermione looked to the remaining boys. "Well?"

"Staying here another hour is fine with me," Quincy said with a shrug.

"Well, I'd like to go," Michael Corner said quietly. "My brother's arriving tonight and he'll be upset if I'm not there for his sorting."

"I'm fine with going," Blaise threw out with a shrug.

Draco nodded. "I'm with Blaise."

"Hermione's right," Harry said, ignoring the fact that he and Malfoy were actually voting the same way. "We _should_ be there."

"All right, that's everyone. If you voted no, put your hand up and I'll count," Hermione said. Then blinking, she groaned. "Oh _no_, we've managed to vote a tie. What're the chances of _that_?"

Blaise Zabini chuckled at Hermione's distressed look. As much as he'd thought he hated Muggle-borns, Granger was turning out to be quite entertaining—and it hadn't even been twenty-four hours since they'd arrived at Hogwarts...and their House of Purple.

"I have an idea," Justin said. "Mind you it's a _Muggle_ idea...sort of.

A few people raised a brow at the Muggle-born boy—Pansy and Millicent scowled.

Pulling out the pointed hat he'd stuffed into a pocket, he held it upside down. "Everyone put your name in my hat, then I'll draw a name. And that person's name'll be out of the voting."

Hermione grinned. "Why didn't _I_ think of that? That's perfect, Justin!"

Justin smiled at the Gryffindor girl.

"How do we know you won't purposely pull out the name of someone who voted 'yes' just because you voted 'no'?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Come on, Malfoy..._really_?" Justin asked with a frown. "I'm a Hufflepuff...just and loyal and true...and all that crap." He waved a dismissive hand. "I'm a trustworthy guy...ask anyone."

Draco glanced around and noticed all the Hufflepuffs nodding—including the Zacharias prat.

"Besides," Justin continued, "there's no magic to this. I'll physically reach in and pull out a name."

Shrugging, Draco said, "Fine then."

Quickly, everyone spelled their names onto small pieces of parchment and dropped them in Justin's hat—then waited. Reaching in, Justin stirred the contents of his hat, then pulled out one slip of paper.

"Ron Weasley."

Grinning, Hermione gave a barely subdued squeal, then grabbed Ron's hand—he wasn't happy. "Oh come on, Ron...it's only an hour earlier.

"Yeah. I know," he said, his tone glum.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," Hermione said.

Ron's brow raised. "Really? Can I have a kiss?"

Hermione blushed because he'd asked in front of the entire room, then bit her lip and nodded.

"Now?"

Hermione frowned, then whispered, "Later."

Ron shook his head. "Uh-uh. Now," he said as he grabbed her about the waist and drew her into his arms.

"_RON_!" she squealed, her body now pressed firmly against Ron's.

"Oh, go on, Granger, we've all seen you two snogging before," Blaise teased.

"Zabini's got a point, 'Ermione," Harry agreed. "Though Merlin knows _I've_ seen quite enough of it."

Ron smirked, then lowered his lips to his girlfriend's.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Not much to say here...just that I have one foot note from my story (below). It has a link in it—sort of...you'll have to add the dots on your own—though I'm not sure it'll even work. I tried including a link in the first chapter (of their new House) and it wouldn't work (GRR), so I deleted it. =( _This one_ is for a song...and you can just go to youtube and search for it, if the link doesn't work and you _really_ want to hear it. It is a nice song. Makes me cry...because I have three kids that are just about to graduate from high school (one next month and two next year) and they (two of the three) think they're ready to go off on their own. *sigh*

[1] "Yes it is, Ronald, and that's _just_ my point...this is our _last_ one, our last sorting ceremony. We should be there because, _someday_ we're going to miss this." ***~*~* When I was writing this scene a song popped into my head. Along with the massive amounts of 60s and 70s music that I just LOVE (80s too, since that's my high school era, class of '88), I just love, love, LOVE country music...so, "You're Gonna Miss This," by Trace Adkins started playing in my head. Here's it is on youtube: **

watch?v=lBDN8yWyNYU (which I've dedicated to my children, because it's so very true)

**Enjoy!**


	5. Conversations

**Posted: **18 May, 2011

* * *

><p><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<br>Chapter Five  
>"Conversations"<strong>

All twenty second-year seventh-years entered an almost empty Great Hall as one. Filing in, Hermione, Ron, and Harry at the lead—because Hermione was dragging them—the group passed their former House tables and halted at the front of the room, just in front of where the Sorting Hat had been set out on its usual stool. Headmistress McGonagall stood there beside the old Sorting Hat waiting, a rare smile touching the corners of her lips—she was obviously pleased that they'd chosen to attend the ceremony.

"Though I must say that I'm quite surprised," the old witch began, "I'm also delighted to see you all here. And early too. Twenty points to your House for showing _some_ sign of maturity. I do believe this bodes well for your House."

Several students smiled—though a few rolled their eyes.

"Now—"

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Hermione interrupted, her hand in the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What _is_ our House to be called, anyway?"

"As you know, Miss Granger, Hogwarts had four founders and the Houses are named after them," McGonagall said. "The naming of _your_ House, however, will be something you, as a group, will have to decide upon. But we don't have time for that now; the second through seventh-years will be arriving in exactly ten minutes and the new first-years shortly there after. We need to get you situated. As you can see, two tables have been set up," she went on, her arms spread wide to draw their eyes to their sides. "Girls shall sit to my right and boys on my left...in alphabetically order."

Most students groaned—causing the headmistress' forehead to bunch up.

"Must I remind you that your new House is your family?" she queried.

Everyone shook their heads—grudgingly—they absolutely had _not_ forgotten, and had no interest in being reminded.

"Now, your positions at these two tables have been spelled so that you cannot sit anywhere, but in your assigned seat...for now. The spell will grow and change as you do, so...the quicker you learn to get along, the quicker your choices will be expanded."

"Is our dining room table spelled the same way?" Hermione blurted. She'd been trying to figure out the morning's seating arrangement all day and hadn't come up with a thing—except for it possibly being spelled by the order in which they'd entered the room...but that wasn't right either, because Hannah Abbott had entered the room before Mandy Brocklehurst and ended having to sit after the former Ravenclaw girl.

"Not exactly."

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to ask another question, but Pansy's hand shot up.

"Professor...umm, I mean, Headmistress?"

"Yes, Miss Parkinson."

"Would you...be so kind as to tell us _how_ our House Heads were chosen?" Pansy asked after sending a self-important glare at Hermione, her pug nose wrinkled and in the air, "because I don't think—"

"Certainly, Miss Parkinson," the headmistress said, her lips pursing and her eyes narrowed as she cut the girl off. "It's simple really. Your Heads of House had the best marks throughout their time here at Hogwarts. I decided that should carry some weight."

At this Hermione's eyes widened as she glanced at Harry.

"Don't look so surprised, Hermione," he said with a grin—then whispered, "Dean's were actually better than mine, but he's not here. And I think I got some extra credit for heading D.A."

"Pfft!" Draco huffed—then said, "Of course you did, Potter!" under his breath.

"Are there any more questions?" the headmistress asked, her beady eyes sweeping the group.

Everyone shook their heads again.

"Good then. I need to stop in the staff room before everyone arrives, but please take your seats," the headmistress said. "Oh. One more thing; sometimes your table will be where you see it now, while other times it will be at the back of the room. But that won't change your seating, except for the fact that the boys and girls will switch sides."

Then, with one last look, the headmistress turned and strode toward the door that led to the staff room—where, presumably, the teachers were.

**XxXxXxX**

It didn't take long for the students of the new House to find their seats; there were, after all, only ten girls and ten boys to be seated. Both groups starting at the center of the room, the girls sat: Hannah, Mandy, Lavender, Millicent, Hermione, Daphne, Morag, Lila, Pansy, and Sophie; and the boys: Michael, Justin, Neville, Ernie, Draco, Harry, Quincy, Zacharias, Ron, and Blaise.

Leaning forward so that he could see Harry in front of the former Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff between them, Ron bellowed, "This is bloody _ridiculous_, mate!"

Harry just shrugged. He didn't like it either, but what could they do—aside from miraculously becoming buddy-buddy with all the people they'd never liked.

"We had more freedom when we were first-years," Ron went on, his voice lowering as he rested in his chair.

"Hey, at least we have chairs now," Blaise put in.

"Yeah, _that's_ something," Ron said sarcastically.

Blaise chuckled, then slapped Ron's arm with the back of his hand. "Lighten up, mate. We'll survive."

Several chairs down, Harry was doing his best to ignore Malfoy—who was making a point of loudly sighing his boredom every minute or so—by fiddling with the hem on the sleeve of his robe.

"If you keep doing that, Potter, it's going to unravel," Draco said in a scolding, self-important tone.

Stopping, Harry glanced at his roommate. "So! What's it to you, Malfoy?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "Nothing," then looked away. "Just thought I'd point it out...not that you care what you look like..._obviously_."

Harry frowned. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Draco's lip quirked up—because it was _far too easy_ to get under Potter's skin—but he forced himself to scowl before looking at the other boy. "Have you looked at yourself lately, Potter? Or _ever_, for that matter? Ill-fitting clothing—"

"Hey, my clothes fit!"

"Yeah. _This_ year," Draco quipped, wondering where Potter's somewhat better-fitting—though still atrocious—wardrobe had come from. "Tell me, Potter, are your shoes even tied?"

Not being able to help himself, Harry glanced down at his shoes and frowned—the laces on his left trainer had indeed come loose.

"It's a wonder you didn't trip down the stairs and take the lot of us out with you," Draco scoffed.

Pushing his chair out, Harry pulled his foot up and placed it on the edge of his chair to tie his shoe—and tried desperately to ignore Malfoy.

"I bet you didn't bother changing into a proper pair of trousers," Draco continued. "And that hair! What is _wrong_ with your hair anyway?"

"_Nothing's_ wrong with it!" Harry snapped as he dropped his foot to the floor and pulled his chair in. "This is just the way it dries."

"Pfft! You could at least _try_ to do something with it. A drying spell, maybe."

"They don't work," Harry mumbled.

"How about a haircut, Potter?" Draco pushed. "Merlin knows you could use one!"

Tugging at the strands that had...admittedly grown quite long, Harry's lips quirked up; his Aunt Petunia had hated its unruliness. "I like it long, actually," he said—then glared and all but hissed at the other boy. "Why the hell do you even care, Malfoy?"

Draco snorted. "I don't."

"Could have fooled me."

"Anyone could fool _you_, Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Malfoy. Still seems like you care just a little too much."

"I don't," Draco repeated.

"Fine."

"Good."

"Well then..._great_!" Harry said. "Why don't you just piss off!"

Scowling, Draco leaned against the table and looked out over the empty Great Hall, then glanced down their table at the girls. He could see them chatting—some of them more friendly than others—and he wondered at he conversation between Daphne and Granger.

**XxXxXxX**

"Don't look now, but...seems Potter and Draco are still going at it," Daphne whispered when she noticed Draco's pale face turned in their direction.

Turning her head, Hermione caught Malfoy's gaze.

"I told you not to look," Daphne said with a shake of her blonde head. "You Gryffindors even have trouble with direct commands, don't you?"

Hermione frowned. "I'm not surprised," she said, responding to her roommate's comment about Harry and Malfoy and ignoring her question—it was, after all, rhetorical. "Given all that's happened."

Daphne shrugged, as if it didn't matter to her, but it really did.

"Last year was hell," Hermione went on, not able to suppress a shudder at the thought of the previous year's horrors—taking away her parents' memories of her existence and sending them away, all those months on the run, living in a tent and searching for Horcruxes, getting caught by the Snatchers and being tortured at Malfoy Manor, the final battle, the loss of loved ones...and the finally death of Tom Riddle and the aftermath of the war. So many of them had gone through so much, and yet... "But here we are, at Hogwarts, _again_...as if nothing has happened," she said. "It's...surreal, you know?"

Daphne nodded. "To be honest...I'm surprised Draco came back," she said, turning her head and lowering her voice so that only her roommate could hear her. "I heard his mother made him."

Hermione glanced around, then looked back at the Slytherin girl and shook her head. "Uh-uh. It was one of the conditions of his freedom," she whispered.

Completely surprised that the Gryffindor would divulge such a thing—though maybe she shouldn't be, since Gryffindors were unfailingly trusting—Daphne's brow raised.

"That and twelve months of house arrest," Hermione went on—not sure why she was telling the other girl such private matters when Malfoy hadn't bothered to tell her himself. Then blushing, Hermione said, "I probably shouldn't have said anything. It's not really my place."

Daphne nodded her understanding, but was more than curious. "One wouldn't guess it, but...Draco's fairly private about family matters. He puts on such airs, but..." Daphne let her words trail off. "So, how do you know all this about him?

Frowning, because she'd already said more than she should have, Hermione glanced down the girls' table toward the boys—and Draco Malfoy—then back at Daphne Greengrass. "Because...Harry testified for the Malfoys," she mumbled, her head angled just so, so that only her Slytherin roommate could hear her. She figured that Harry testifying was public knowledge, so she wasn't actually giving more information away. "It's anyone's guess as to _why_, but..." Hermione shrugged.

"My father might have mentioned something about Potter testifying for the Malfoys, but...I guess I just assumed it was Draco's mother who made him come back," Daphne said, her blue eyes wide. "That's what I heard anyway. That it was either that or spend a year cooped up with his father."

Hermione shrugged. "He has to do that too...when he's finished here. He's already done three of his twelve months," she added.

"Hmm. Interesting." Then frowning, Daphne studied her roommate. "Why are you telling me this stuff?"

Shrugging again, Hermione said, "I know I shouldn't be...that it's none of our business, but...well...you're my roommate and...girls talk, right?"

Daphne nodded.

"And...for a Slytherin, you haven't been _all that horrible_ to me since we got here."

Daphne snorted. "I've been downright pleasant. It's disgusting! I think you might be infecting me or something," she said, then flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced the other way.

Hermione snorted. "In less than twenty-four hours?"

Daphne looked back at her. "Yes. Like an illness." She shuddered.

Hermione frowned—then caught the smirk on the other girl's lips. "Are you having me on?"

"Oh look!" Daphne exclaimed, ignoring Hermione's pointed question. "The teachers are coming in. Time to start the evening, I guess."

Hermione looked over her shoulder and, _sure enough_, the teachers were entering—and there were several new faces—but she couldn't help the smile that crept onto her lips; the idea of making friends with anyone in Slytherin was positively foreign to her, but she'd definitely give it a try.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

So...ahh...tentative friendships forming. That's a good thing, yeah? =) My goal is to have their new house completely united by the end of this, but...who knows where it'll go as I write. :p

**Questions/comments**...you are welcome to ask/make them. And since I love responding, I'll answer every single one! =)

Further, I'm still trying to figure out a way to make my drawings available to you, but have not been able to as of yet. As with my other HP fic, I have a "Black Family Tree" (which includes A LOT of other people) that I can email to anyone who's interested. It is, however, always changing. Please note that it's the same family tree I've been emailing out for "Consequences of Foolish Wand Waving" (which is not technically a prequel/sequel to this, "Class of Ninety-nine," but still follows the same background, including the family tree).

Again...**thanks** for reading!


	6. Sorting Ceremony

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

dragonsbabe (18 May, 2011) – I absolutely love this story! I love all your stories. You are an awesome writer and I find myself eagerly waiting for updates. Your story True Twilight: New Home was the very first twilight Xover story I had read on ff, and I was amazed by how you seamlessly mixed the two stories together. I REALLY hope you update True Twilight: Leah's New Sam soon! ***~*~*~* Thanks so much, dragonsbabe (like your profile pic, BTW)...I'm definitely not finished with Leah's New Sam...I guess my head just got muddled up with Harry Potter ideas. First with CoFWW and now with CoN, but I'll eventually get my mind back to Twilight and TB. =) The new season (#4) of True Blood starts SOON, so...yeah...NEED to get back into it...for sure! *grin***

dragonsbabe (18 May, 2011) – P.S. I like that your A/Ns are so long, because it shows that you take the time to answer questions and acknowledge your readers.=) ***~*~*~* I'm glad you like them (my A.N.s)...I definitely acknowledge my readers (when they comment...can't very well acknowledge those that don't)...it's fun to interact and talk people through my thinking (as to what is happening in my story and why). I'm afraid I scare people off though...because I'm a bit snarky! =/ But...oh well.**

waterlilie2.0 (18 May, 2011) – Hey there! Thank you for writing this; it is an amazing story. I like the "tentative friendships" as you put it. It is a good story line, though, there seems to be a substantial amount of words being misspelled. In the sense of leaving out letters (of= f, the= he) Sorry to be nit-picky, but that is one of my pet peeves. ***~*~*~* Well, that's just flat out ANNOYING, waterlilie! The misspellings, I mean. If you knew how many times I've read through each chapter before uploading, you'd know that I'm now pulling my hair out! GRRR! **(went back and reread chapter five again...can't find any misspellings and/or missing letters...maybe I've read it too many times to be able to see them *pout*)** But thank you...I'm glad you're enjoying my crazy little tale (used the word "crazy" just for you! :p ). Hope you'll keep reading and continue to comment...and **_**definitely**_** keep pointing out the shit I miss. =)**

**Author's Note**

Hey all...wanted to give you a heads up that this chapter is...kind of tedious, with the sorting and all. It's full of Harry and Draco's bickering (like little boys) and the new first-years getting sorted (woven into the bickering). I've tried to use surnames that you'll recognize from JKR's series, but I've added some in there too. If you're reading my other HP fic, "Consequences of Foolish Wand Waving" (CoFWW), you might recognize one of the non-canon last names. *snicker* As for the two kids with that non-canon name...can anyone tell me the pattern I'm forming with their first names? In CoFWW, I've yet to sort the main characters into Hogwarts...or introduce them to other characters, but those _other characters_ will have the same patterned names. Hehe.

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – UbiquitousTime, sdmssj10, otvet1269, thraxis, sofieke24, and jmguiry2010. You guys/gals are great! =)

Now...on to **chapter six**!

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>19 May, 2011

**Word Count:** 3,498

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Six**

"**Sorting Ceremony"**

It was just as the teachers seated themselves that the main doors to the Great Hall opened and six years of students began to filter in, some with their Houses, others in small mixed groups, and others alone, straggling in here and there—but there was no one whose eyes did not come to rest on the twenty returning seventh-years seated at the front of the room. Several waved, but no one approached them. And when finally all the students were seated, Argus Filch—holding his damned, dust-colored cat, Mrs. Norris—closed the door, glared at the students nearest him, then nodded toward the headmistress.

Turning, Harry watched the woman rise from her place—the large, center, throne-like chair that used to belong to Albus Dumbledore—and circle the teacher's table, then make her way through the packed hall toward the monstrous doors to retrieve this year's first-years. When she got to the doors, the old, cantankerous caretaker reached out and opened the door for her, his face once again scrunched into a hateful glare at the annoying children around him, as the headmistress passed through it. It no sooner clicked closed when it was pushed—quite forcefully—open again, and Hagrid appeared.

"Sorry, Argus," Hagrid mumbled as he came in, realizing that he'd smashed the old man behind the door. Then turning, Hagrid thumped and shuffled his way up to the front of the room. "Ron, Harry," said the man with a wave of his huge hand as he turned away from the boys' table and headed by the girls. "_Hermione_."

Hermione grinned. "Hi there, Hagrid. It's so good to see you."

"Good ter see yeh, too," said the giant man.

Snorting beside Hermione, Millicent said, "I can't believe that oaf's _still_ teaching classes." Then, leaning forward and somewhat into Hermione's personal space so that she could speak to Daphne, the black-haired girl went on. "You'd think Draco's father could have at least gotten rid of _that_ before he got himself—"

"Hey!" Hermione said, cutting the hulking girl off. "Hagrid's classes are fun!"

Millicent snorted again. "Of course _you'd_ think they're fun. But you wouldn't if he'd nearly gotten _your_ friend killed."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was a minor injury, Bulstrode. And, your _friend_ is a whiner!" Hermione's eyes went down to Malfoy as she spoke and, though he was indeed watching them, she knew he couldn't actually hear them over the din of the bustling room. "And Buckbeak's...a nice hippogriff."

Millicent opened her mouth, another snide comment on her tongue, but a hush fell over the room as the doors swung open and the headmistress entered with all the wide-eyed first-years, causing the girl's square jaw to snap closed again. Scowling, her eyes went to Draco—who was still curiously watching them.

**XxXxXxX**

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" Harry asked from Draco's other side. "Bully Bulstrode having some trouble with Hermione?" Then he snickered.

Draco scowled. "I doubt it."

"Were we ever that small?" Harry murmured to himself.

"You still are, Potter," Malfoy taunted.

Shaking his head, Harry said, "It was a rhetorical question, you tosser! And...you're only an inch or so taller than I am, so don't get all high and mighty."

Malfoy's lips twisted into a grin. "I'm _high and mighty_, as you put it, because of my station, Potter...it has nothing to do with physical height."

"Your _station_, huh?" Harry said.

Draco nodded. "_Naturally_."

"Your station, as in...sole heir to the Malfoy Estate?"

"Of course."

"And your station as in...son of a Death Eater."

Draco's eyes instantly clouded and his cheeks turned pink.

"Oh. Sorry. I meant, son of a _former_ Death Eater," Harry said with a snort.

Draco's face had gone from pink to red.

"No wait! Former Death Eater _himself_," Harry hissed under his breath—which caused Malfoy's red face to lose all color.

"H-how did you k-know...for sure?"

"Only suspected...'til you tromped naked through our bathroom and I actually _saw_ the Mark. Might want to keep _that_ covered," Harry advised as he cocked his head at Draco's arm. "Always wear long-sleeved shirts or put a Disillusionment Charm on it or..._something_."

Self-consciously, Draco moved his right hand to his left forearm and frowned deeply. "It was forced on me. I didn't have a choice."

"We always have choices, Malfoy," Harry said—then seeing the pain on the other boy's face, he sighed and looked at the gathering first-years. "Hey look," he said with a nod, "I didn't know Lucius and Narcissa procreated after you. Why didn't you tell me you had brothers?"

For a moment all Draco could do was stare at the black-haired pain in his arse, and then he turned his head and looked at the eleven-year-olds. "First off, why would you think I'd tell _you_ anything?"

Harry didn't answer, because he was pretending to listen to the Sorting Hat's song, but he was glad that he'd distracted Malfoy from something he _definitely_ shouldn't have brought up and thrown in his face; it was spiteful and Harry simply wasn't that kind of person—at least he tried not to be.

"And second," Malfoy went on, "everyone knows I'm an only child."

"Could have fooled me."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "It's easy to fool you, Potter...because you _are_ a fool. But, I repeat myself."

"Aren't _you_ funny, Malfoy."

"And _third_, there's a very good reason why those two _girls_ resemble me. They're cousins of mine." Then the blond boy frowned. "Well, _their_ father is cousin to _my_ father."

"Second cousins then," Harry deduced.

"You're quick, Potter," Malfoy said with a sneer, then sighed. "Why again did we vote to attend the sorting? This is so..._boring_."

Harry laughed quietly. "After all the shite we went through last year, I can only _hope_ this year is boring."

Malfoy nodded. "Point taken."

"Wow. I can't believe you just agreed with me."

"I didn't just agree with—"

"Yes, you did," Harry said with a grin as he lifted his hands to applaud along with everyone else in the room, because the hat had finished its song. "Hey, did the hat's song sound familiar to you?"

Malfoy glowered. "How the fuck should I know, Potter!" Draco snapped. "If you can think back...say, _one minute_...you'll remember that I wasn't actually _listening_ to it."

"Of course you weren't, because you were babbling about your brothers."

"Cousins!" Malfoy hissed—causing Harry to snicker again.

Stepping forward, Headmistress McGonagall frowned at the two boys—young men, really—talking when they shouldn't be, then held up a long roll of parchment, gave it a purposeful shake, and cleared her throat. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Ackerley, Stephan!"

A lean boy with neatly combed dark hair and piercing blue eyes walked purposefully up the few steps, put on the hat, sat on the stool—and waited. After a moment's pause—

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.

The table on the center left cheered and clapped as Stephan smiled proudly, then got up and went to sit with his House.

"I knew it!" Draco whispered to Harry while everyone was still cheering.

Harry's green eyes rolled.

"I _did_ know," the blond insisted—a little too loudly.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry hissed when the headmistress narrowed her eyes at them. "Are you _trying_ to get us in trouble?"

"Of course not. I'm just...making conversation."

Rolling his eyes again, Harry thought, _Why me?_ then murmured, "All right, I'll bite. How'd you know where Ackerley would go?"

"By the way he walked up there, Potter," Draco said as if Harry should just know. "He's clearly intelligent. Confident, but not stupidly brave like a Gryffindor. And he'll be fair, but not sickly sweet like a Hufflepuff."

"Pfft!"

"And he couldn't be in _my_ House, because—"

"—he's not a repeat seventh-year," Harry finished for him.

"My _old_ House," Malfoy corrected himself, glaring at the green-eyed boy beside him. "Actually, I knew because his _brother's_ in Ravenclaw, you bloody moron. Don't you pay attention?"

Harry frowned. "You're such a git, Malfoy."

"Chambers, Philbert!" McGonagall called.

"_Bert_," the boy mumbled.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

APPLAUSE.

"Humph! Well, _that's_ a surprise," Draco said.

"Are you planning to comment on each sorting?" Harry asked in irritation.

"Obviously not, Potter, I missed four in between Ackerley and Chambers so that I could explain my brilliance to you," the blond said, then smacked Harry's upper arm with the back of his hand and nodded toward the first-years. "Take a look at _that one_, would you? He looks _just_ like you did at eleven."

Leaning, Harry looked at the boy Malfoy was indicating and had to agree with him. "His eyes aren't green though," he said when the boy's head turned and their gazes connected for a split second.

Malfoy frowned. "That's too bad. Your eyes really are your best feature. But at least he doesn't wear those dreadful glasses."

Harry frowned, then looked up when McGonagall said, "Corner, Matthew."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Beaming down at his older brother, Matthew hopped off the stool, then skipped down to join the clapping Ravenclaw table, where he received several handshakes and congratulations.

"Michael looks happy," Harry commented. He wasn't expecting any kind of response, but he wasn't at all surprised when Malfoy spoke.

"Of course he is, you dolt! Didn't you see his brother skip down to the Ravenclaw table like a girl? I bet Corner was terrified his little shadow might end up in Hufflepuff."

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff, Malfoy," came Ernie Macmillan's voice from his other side. "So shut it or I'll shut it for you!"

"We're in room full of people, Macmillan," Draco said, remembering the time this particular Hufflepuff—along with several others—had hexed him on the Hogwarts Express.

Ernie narrowed his eyes. "We live in the same House, Malfoy, you might not want to push me!"

Huffing, Draco frowned.

"Dawlish, Shaun!"

"Merlin, I hate him," Malfoy complained.

"Pfft! Whatever for?" Harry asked. "He's just a little kid."

"His father's a bloody arse!"

"Auror, right?

Malfoy nodded.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted after several moments.

"Figures!" Malfoy said with a scowl.

"I worked with Auror Dawlish over the summer. Seemed pleasant enough."

"Yeah, if he's not bloody well ripping apart your entire house!" Draco hissed.

Harry frowned, but didn't comment. The Malfoys deserved what they got, as far as he was concerned, but...he couldn't help feeling some sympathy for Draco's plight. He'd been a right bastard, but in the end he'd seen the light.

"Diggory, Sebastian!"

"Humph. I didn't know Cedric had a brother," Harry said, straightening up to listen.

"And a sister." Draco pointed. "The Diggory twins. There's no way Sienna's going into Hufflepuff though."

Ernie turned and glared at the blond boy. "Put your money where your mouth is, Malfoy."

Draco grinned, reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out some coins. "Three Galleons!"

Ernie nodded. "Done!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Smiling, Sebastian moved through the remaining first-years and went to his table.

"Diggory, Sienna!"

And Draco was right; the hat shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

Frowning, Ernie dug around in his pocket and pulled out what was there—which was _not_ three Galleons. "I guess I owe you, Malfoy," he mumbled.

"You certainly do, Macmillan," Malfoy said arrogantly. "Hey, Potter, the Weaselette's trying to get your attention."

Looking out into the crowd, Harry's eyes found Ginny and his heart warmed when she grinned, then waved at him. With a smile, he returned the gesture—and wished he could go sit with her. They'd not seen much of each other over the summer break, because he'd been busy working with the Ministry to bring in Death Eaters, and he felt bad that he'd been somewhat absent. He'd gone to Fred's funeral—and so many others, it seemed—and attended all the Weasley's Sunday dinners, but he'd needed some time to work his mind through what they'd all gone through. He was _still_ working himself through things—and knew she understood and wouldn't push him. But he still felt bad. He wanted to be with her. He _knew_ she was the one. But he also knew he wasn't ready.

"Frobisher, Elizabeth!"

The hat seemed to hem and haw over the first-year, then it shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

"Isn't her sister in _your_ House, Potter?" Malfoy asked, the volume of his voice rising quite a bit to be heard over the thunderous roar of clapping that came from the Ravenclaw table.

"You seem to keep forgetting that Gryffindor's not my House anymore, Malfoy."

"You know what I mean, _Potter_," the blond said with a scowl. "I don't know why you can't just answer the question."

"_Fine_. Yes. Vicky Frobisher's a Gryffindor."

"Harper, Emily!" McGonagall called next.

Draco eyed the girl, then looked down the Slytherin table at the girl's older brother. Douglas' forehead was resting on the table and his arms were clasped over his head as if he didn't want to hear where his sister went. "There's no way that girl's getting sorted into Slytherin," Draco whispered a second before the hat sorted the girl.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" it shouted.

"I _knew_ it!"

Not seeming at all upset, the girl hopped off the stool and descended the steps into a sea of cheering Hufflepuff students and plopped down on the bench beside them, then glanced over her shoulder at her brother—whom Draco was surprised to see smiling at her—grinned, then turned back to enjoy her people.

"What is this place _coming_ to?" Draco said with a snort.

"Not one word about Hufflepuff, Malfoy, or I'll..."

"Or you'll what, Macmillan?"

"I'll...hex your bollocks off," Ernie threatened.

"Pfft! I'd like to see you try."

"You won't like it much when you can't produce the next Malfoy heir."

"Jordan, Leeza!"

Confidently, a black girl with waist-length dreadlocks approached, put on the hat and sat down.

"Oh Merlin. That girl _has to be_ related to Lee."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Honestly, Potter, were you born yesterday?" Malfoy sneered. "Leeza Jordan is Lee's cousin."

"Like I said, she's related to Lee," Harry said as he rolled his eyes.

At this Ernie laughed.

"Le Noire, Merak!"

"Hey, Potter, it's your mini twin."

Glancing up, Harry watched the boy sitting on the stool. He seemed to be talking to himself and Harry couldn't help being reminded of the time he himself had been sitting there—begging the hat not to put him in Slytherin—and he wondered if the manky old thing was trying to put the boy somewhere he didn't want to be.

Beside Potter, Draco was frowning deeply. Le Noire was French for Black—his mother's maiden name—and he distinctly remembered a story about one of the Blacks being disowned, moving to France, and changing his name. Could this be a relation of that Black? And why the fuck would the kid resemble Harry Potter to the tee—minus the green eyes—if he was a Black.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.

The boy—Merak—gave a relieved sigh, then stood up and went to his table, but both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were intensely curious about him, and their possible connection to him. He looked just like Harry, but didn't have Harry's emerald-colored eyes—in fact, Merak Le Noire's were a silvery-grey!

"Humph!"

"You hoping he'd get sorted Slytherin, Malfoy?"

"Not at all, _Potter_," Draco said with a shake of his head. "Actually, I thought he might be one of _your_ brethren...since he looks just like you and all. But I can live with Ravenclaw."

Rolling his eyes—yet again—Harry said, "You're fine with Slytherin or Ravenclaw, but not Gryffindor or Hufflepuff?"

"_Definitely_ not Hufflepuff!"

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut it, Malfoy!" snapped Ernie.

"At least once more," Draco threw out.

"Macmillan, Christine!"

"Well, shut it!" Ernie snarled through clenched teeth. "And shut it _now_...it's my sister's turn!"

"Touchy, touchy."

"_Shhh_!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Ernie watched his sister pull the hat off her head, then turn and smile at him. Giving her the thumbs up, Ernie beamed at her.

"Happy, are we?" Malfoy asked.

"_Definitely_," Ernie said with a nod. "Relieved she didn't go to _Slytherin_; our parents would have had a fit."

"Pfft! And you call _me_ prejudiced," Draco hissed.

"I prefer to call it biased, Malfoy."

"Same difference!"

Ernie shook his head. "Not at all."

"Whatever!" Sitting back in his chair, the same old _bored_ look on his face, Draco turned his eyes on the Slytherin table. So far only three first-years had been sorted into Slytherin—four into Gryffindor, eight into Hufflepuff, and seven into Ravenclaw—and that concerned him.

The next two—another set of twins—were Clodagh and Connor McLaggen, and they both went into Gryffindor.

_That's _six_ new Gryffindors_, Draco thought with disgust. But he was happy to see the next three—Roman Montague, and Erik and Evelyn Pritchard—go into Slytherin.

"Not surprised about _those_ three," Harry put in.

"Neither am I."

Smirking—almost evilly—Harry cocked his head and leaned slightly toward the blond boy next to him. "Montague ever get over being dazed and confused?" he asked, referring to the incident in fifth year when the Slytherin boy had been stuffed, by Fred and George Weasley, into the vanishing cabinet and was missing for several days.

Draco couldn't help himself; he snickered. "Montague was never...shall we say, _all there_, to begin with, so...no."

Chuckling for a second, Harry listened to the next student get sorted into Hufflepuff and frowned.

"See, doesn't feel right when you expect someone to go into your House and they don't," Draco whispered.

Composed now, Harry shrugged.

"Salvatore, Piper!" McGonagall read.

"_Your_ look-a-likes are up," Harry teased.

"They don't look _that_ much like me," Draco said with a frown. "They're girls."

"Yeah. _And_?"

Draco rolled his gray eyes. "I'm not a girl."

"Could have fooled me, Malfoy," Harry said, expecting the blond to once again call him a fool.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Well," Harry said, "You're a drama queen and—"

"I am not!" Draco protested.

Harry pretended not to hear his roommate. "I've heard you scream like a girl and...you're kind of pretty like a girl."

Draco's eyes widened. "You think I'm pretty?"

Frowning, because he hadn't meant it that way, Harry shook his head. "Leave it to you to only hear _that_. No, Malfoy, I just meant that—"

"You think I'm pretty!" Draco said with a grin. "I didn't know you had such good taste, Potter."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Draco choked. "Oh!" he burst, though he could hardly be heard over the noise of the room—Gryffindor and Hufflepuff clapped politely, but Ravenclaw roared a happy cheer while many from Slytherin growled in protestation. "That's the first Salvatore _ever_, to not go into Slytherin. Father's cousin Tiberius is going to be furious!"

"Salvatore, Pitra!"

Glaring at her twin sister—presumably for getting sorted into the wrong House—Pitra Salvatore marched up the steps and snatched the hat from Piper's hands, then quickly sat down; the hat had barely touched her head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Sighing her relief, the girl lifted her chin and swaggered to her House table.

"Piper and Pitra?" Harry queried.

"You should hear some of my other cousins' names."

"Not all _stars and constellations_, huh?"

"Obviously not. Mother's name is a flower."

Harry frowned. "Really? My mom's too."

"No. _Really_?" Draco said sarcastically. "Really, Potter, I'm not an idiot."

"But you are an arse, Malfoy."

"_Everyone_ knows a lily is a flower," Draco went on.

"And where'd Lucius get _his_ name?" Harry asked, though he didn't really care.

"Father's name was Grandfather's middle name," Draco said loftily. "It's tradition for Malfoys to give their sons the middle name of their father."

"So...Lucius' middle name is Draco?"

"Not exactly," Draco said—then because Harry frowned in confusion, he went on. "Father's middle name wasn't a star or constellation, so Mother altered it. Father's middle name is Dracronus and my full first name is actually...Draconis."

"Well, _that's_ different."

"Pfft! At least it's not something common like _Harry_," Draco snapped.

At this Harry grinned. "I think that's the first time I've heard my actual name pass your lips."

Draco frowned. "Don't expect to hear it again..._Potter_!"

Chuckling, Harry turned his attention back to the sorting—it had concluded while he and Malfoy were exchanging words. Glancing at the tables, he studied the first-years' faces, because he wanted to remember who went where, then looked at their headmistress—she had rolled up her scroll, picked up the Sorting Hat, and was now moving to her seat.

Now standing in front of her own chair, Headmistress McGonagall gave everyone a rare smile, opened her arms wide—just like Dumbledore would have done—and said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Shall we eat?"

It seemed the room said, "Yes!" in unison, and, just as it always did, food and drink suddenly filled their tables.

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><p><strong>Post Script (information)<strong>

**Full List of first-years (not that it really matters) - in ABC order, by House **(names in **bold** are non-canon surnames (ones I completely made up)/names in _italics_ are those who were sorted into a House different from other family members (with their family's House in parentheses afterward))**:**

Gryffindor House

Dawlish, Shaun  
>Jordan, Leeza<br>Kirke, Kendra  
>McDonald, Delilah<br>McLaggen, Clodagh  
>McLaggen, Connor<br>Stimpson, Patrick  
><strong>Sylvanus<strong>, Miley  
>Towler, Kurt<br>Vane, David

Hufflepuff House

Catchlove, Minnie  
>Cattermole, Alfred<br>_Chambers_, Bert (Ravenclaw)  
>Cresswell, Kevin<br>Diggory, Sebastian  
><em>Harper<em>, Emily (Slytherin)  
>Macmillan, Tina<br>Madley, Helen  
><em>Robins<em>, Gwen (Gryffindor)  
>Summerby, Stanley<p>

Ravenclaw House

Ackerley, Stephan  
>Capper, Sylvestra<br>Clearwater, Simon  
>Corner, Matthew<br>_Diggory_, Sienna (Hufflepuff)  
><em>Frobisher<em>, Elizabeth (Gryffindor)  
><em><strong>Le Noire<strong>_, Merak (Gryffindor/Slytherin)  
>Quirke, Otto<br>_**Salvatore**_, Piper (Slytherin)  
>Turpin, Lara<p>

Slytherin House

Baddock, Maximillian  
>Davis, Darcy<br>Flint, Mariah  
>Montague, Roman<br>Pritchard, Erik  
>Pritchard, Eve<br>**Salvatore**, Pitra  
><em>Sloper<em>, Jared (Gryffindor)  
><em>Stebbins<em>, Kane (Hufflepuff)  
>Warrington, Caroline<p>

* **Note** - please, please, _please_ point out if I missed somebody (or made a mistake)

* * *

><p><strong>PPS (POST Post Script)<strong>

I have a favor to ask...I hope ya'll can help me. When I do my final read-throughs (before posting), I have to go through and change anything within the actual story (not in A.N.s) that's underlined to _italics_, but...sometimes I miss some of them. If you see this...ones that I forgot to change, I mean...please, please, _please_ let me know. Thanks! And, if you're wondering why I do this (underline things that I want _italicized_), it's because that's how agents/publishers want submitted material...and so I'm in the habit from writing my original works.

**Questions/comments**...you are always welcome to ask/make them. And since I love responding, I'll answer every single one! =)

Hey...I thought this was funny:

"The 15 Strangest College Courses In America" #6 – The Science of Harry Potter

**Frostburg State University** – Not only does Frostburg State offer a course on the science of Harry Potter – it's an honors course. The class discusses topics such as whether or not Fluffy the three headed dog could be explained by genetic engineering or if antigravity research could actually produce a flying broomstick. The course is modeled after (and uses as a textbook) the book "The Science of Harry Potter: How Magic Really Works," by Roger Highfield. The class is geared towards non-science majors and, probably not surprisingly, there is no lab work. ***~*~*~* All I can say is...I WANT to go there! *grin***

Okay...so...again...**thanks** for reading!


	7. Middle Names

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

dragonsbabe (23 May, 2011) – I found only one missed underlined word. It's when Ernie said "And shut it now..." Other than that wonderful chapter. I think Salvatore was the non-canon name from CoFWW, but not sure where you're going with the pattern. Guess I'll find out in the next update, can't wait! ***~*~*~* No, I suppose with only just two names for the Salvatore family (Piper and Pitra), it might be difficult to see a pattern and you won't meet any other Salvatores in CoN (or should I be using Co99?), so...the pattern really doesn't matter...I just thought I'd throw it out there. The only other Salvatores you've met (if you're reading CoFWW) is Raveena and her son, Evanius (both non-canon), and she dislikes her family (and is disliked by them) so much that she didn't follow the Salvatore naming tradition at all. I'm not going to post the other names here, but would be happy to email you the family tree. As for non-canon names in this chapter...there were a few that I made up...Le Noire, Salvatore (from CoFWW, as you said), and Sylvanus (also from CoFWW...this was Septima Vector's maiden name...prior to marrying "that Vector character"...though I now have her married to Cyrus Avery). =) Okay...gonna stop babbling...but, thanks for telling me about the underlined word...found...fixed...fantastic!**

sweetmiracle (23 May, 2011) – That was not a tedious chapter; it's charming! The boys are sparring and showing off, which we know is normal for guys at that age. The growing lack of animosity is obvious, too, which is probably what you were getting at. Really fun! Thanks for writing! ***~*~*~* Thanks! *grin* I'm glad it's coming across the way I want it to...not that I think it's, in any way, realistic that, in less than four months after the Battle at Hogwarts (May 2nd), they're even **_**attempting**_** to get along...Harry and Draco, that is. I mean, JKR shows them NINETEEN **_**friggin'**_** years later and they're as cold as ever. BTW...I'm NOT deviating from her epilogue (I think I might be the only person that actually liked the epilogue). Obviously I won't be writing them up until the epilogue (just this final year...Merlin, I hope I get through the entire year!), but anything that happens in this fic will not keep any character from where JKR wanted them...it's just a sidebar...an interlude of sorts. =) As for what's normal for eighteen year old boys...I'm trying very hard to keep them (all the characters really) in character for both their age and according to JKR...but it is fan fiction, so I might screw it up a bit (who really knows them, but JKR, right?). Haha. Keeping to the age thing is more difficult, IMO...seeing as I'm FORTY and I'm so far removed from high school aged boys...except for the ones that are constantly tromping through my house with my high school aged children. =)**

**Author's Note**

Sorry it took me so damned long to post this. I have no excuse except that I was hoping to finish writing chapter _twelve_ before posting _this_ chapter (**chapter seven**). I FAILED miserably!

So...warning...this is SHORT! =(

However, **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – monaenville, Killakaix8, Ank-sunamuhn80, amarilis, and deadeye52.

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>29 May, 2011

**Word Count:** 1,827

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Seven**

"**Middle Names"**

After they'd finished eating—most of them rushing—the head table students got up and joined the tables of the Houses they'd previously belonged to and enjoyed the rest of the evening. Hermione made a point of greeting each and every first-year Gryffindor, letting them know that, should any of them have questions or ever need her help, that she'd be there—and that so would Ron Wealsey and Harry Potter. A few of the children stared at her in awe.

"Do you remember me, Miss Granger?" a boy to her right asked quietly after gingerly tugging on her robes.

"Of course I do, Shaun," Hermione said. "I worked with your father a couple times over the summer. He's an amazing Auror."

The boy grinned.

"But please, call me Hermione."

His eyes wide, the boy nodded. "Oh. Okay."

"Actually, I know a lot of your relatives," she said to the group. "And I can't wait to get to know all of you."

The first-years all smiled.

"HERMIONE! Are you coming or what?" Ron shouted from halfway down the dining hall.

Giving her boyfriend a scathing look, Hermione sighed, then looked down at the eagerly waiting first-years. "I'm being summoned. But I'll see you all soon."

"Bye, Hermione," the younger children chorused. "Thanks for talking to us."

Waving, Hermione turned and swept away, then halted behind of Ron—he was now seated at the far end of the hall with the seventh years. "That was rude, Ronald!" she snapped.

Ginny Weasley snorted. "And you're _surprised_ by this?"

"No actually, I'm not," Hermione said as she pushed her way onto the bench. "Don't you remember what it was like...your first night here? It's terrifying!"

Ron's blue eyes rolled up toward the enchanted ceiling—and when Hermione saw this she slammed her fist onto the table. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she snapped.

Ron's face first paled, then went bright red. "Just shout my middle name out to the entire hall, why don't you!"

"That's what she did," Ginny said with a giggle.

"There's nothing wrong with Bilius, Ron—"

"_Shhh_." Ron said, his face scrunched up as he glanced around.

"It's a good family name," Hermione said quietly.

"By comparison, anyway," Ginny put in. "You should hear some of the other pure-blood names."

Ignoring his sister, Ron looked at his girlfriend and answered the question she'd posed _before_ mentioning his god-awful middle name. "Yes, 'Ermione, I actually do remember my first night here."

"Well then, you should be ashamed of yourself."

This time, without rolling his eyes, Ron nodded. "Abysmally."

"I'm serious, Ron," Hermione continued. "We've got enough to worry about this year without using poor manners."

"All right."

"It's not right to hurt feelings," she went on.

"All _right_, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, clearly annoyed. "Best foot forward and all that. I get it!"

Hermione blushed.

"So, is it true? You all have to live with the Slytherins?" Ginny asked to change the subject.

"And the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws," Hermione added, nodding her head.

"Yeah, but..._you_ three are with Slytherins." Ginny shook her head. "I don't know how you'll get through the year."

Hermione frowned. "Daphne Greengrass hasn't been so bad."

"Neither has Blaise," said Ron as he picked up a pumpkin pasty and took a bite.

Ginny snorted. "Zabini's a poser!"

"Nah, really, he's okay," Ron insisted through a full mouth. "I think I like him. He certainly put Parkinson and Bulstrode in their place this morning at breakfast."

Hermione nodded. "That's certainly very true. Though, I was surprised to hear you calling him by his first name, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Blaise and I...sort of came to an understanding."

Ginny snorted. "Yeah. _Okay_."

"How's Malfoy been, Harry?" Hermione asked. He hadn't contributed anything to the conversation yet—was just swirling the contents of his cup—and she'd been intensely curious about what was going on in his head. She had to admit that she'd expected them to be fighting already and that she was surprised that a whole new war hadn't yet erupted in their House—and not just between Harry and Malfoy. Michael Corner and Justin Finch-Fletchley had been bickering all day and it was only a matter of time before Millicent Bulstrode exploded on Lavender Brown. Everyone else seemed to be trying. Even Pansy, whom Hermione didn't care for in particular, was minding her mouth—at least as far as after the morning's breakfast. "I noticed the two of you...talking some...during the sorting."

Harry shrugged. "He's a git, but..." He shrugged again.

Everyone just stared at him.

"The war's over and I don't really wanna fight anymore."

"That's really mature, Harry," Hermione said. "I'm proud of you."

Ron snorted. "As if _Harry's_ been the immature one in all of this."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I mean and you know it. Malfoy went through a lot last year."

Ron stopped chewing and tossing his pasty down on the table. "You're joking, right? You _were_ there at Malfoy's house when his lunatic aunt tortured the bloody fuck out of you, right? You remember that, or has someone Obliviated you?"

Hermione frowned. "Of course I remember..._that_...Ron. I..." She paused and swallowed. "Could we talk about something else, please?"

"So. You all settled in your new House then?" Ginny asked.

Both Harry and Hermione nodded, but Ron scowled. His roommate was fine—so far—but he was still pissed off that Hermione could be so nonchalant about what she'd gone through—what they'd _all_ gone through. The last year was murder on all their psyches.

"Our common room's not bad," Neville said. "In fact, I'm heading up there now...with Justin, Ernie, and Hannah."

Hermione nodded. "All right, Neville. See you up there."

"Hannah, huh?" Ginny said after watching Neville join his three formerly-Hufflepuff friends.

Hermione nodded again. "Yep."

"That was fast."

"Nah, Neville's fancied Hannah for some time now," Ron said. "It was just...the war and all that kept them apart."

Ginny glanced at Harry, who'd gone back to swirling his drink around—and who was not really paying attention—and wondered what he was thinking. They too had cooled things down because of the war. She knew he definitely liked her—and she liked him too—but...maybe they were too young to make things permanent. He had a lot of training ahead of him if he wanted to be an Auror and she was thinking hard about what she wanted to do when this year ended. She was seriously considering a career as a professional Quidditch player...maybe...if some team would have her. She knew she was good, but...was she good enough. But where did that leave her and Harry?

"This place is clearing out," Harry said, cutting into Ginny's thoughts. "I think I'm gonna head on up, Gin. Do you wanna come up and see our House?"

"Um. Maybe another time. It's been a long day," she explained when her brother just stared at her. "You guys are already unpacked, but I still have that task ahead of me."

"Sure, Ginny, that's fine," Harry said. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the cheek that Ginny tilted up for him to kiss, then looked at his friends. "You guys coming?"

"We'll be right up, mate," Ron answered for both him and Hermione—he still wanted to talk to Hermione about her stint at Malfoy Manor.

Nodding, Harry got up and headed out.

**XxXxXxX**

"_Draco Malfoy_," the young man said—for a second time—outside the painting of his non-Slytherin House.

Nothing happened—again.

"Draco _Scorpius_ Malfoy," he tried.

Still nothing.

"_Fuck_!" Scowling, because he wished he just had to remember a password—or figure out a bloody riddle—rather than have to say his full name each and every time he wanted to get into his House, Draco bit his lip in frustration.

"Didn't you tell me in the Great Hall that your first name's really _Draconis_," Harry's voice sounded from behind him. "Might wanna try _that_, Malfoy."

Turning, Draco leaned against the railing to see none other than Potter coming up a set of stairs he'd not yet explored—stairs Potter obviously _had_ explored, or already knew about. "Don't sneak up on me, Potter," he snarled.

"Who was sneaking?" Harry said. "I was just coming up and couldn't help hearing you trying to get inside. Try Draconis."

Sighing, Draco faced the door and said, "_Draconis_ Scorpius Malfoy."

Nothing.

"See?" the blond said with frustration.

"You sure that's your name, Malfoy?"

Draco snorted. "Of course I'm sure...you idiot!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, the painting doesn't seem to recognize that as your name."

Draco frowned. When the headmistress told them they'd have to say_ their name, in full_, he'd worried. "Just say yours, Potter, so we don't have to wait out here all night."

"Uh-uh, Malfoy," Harry said with a shake of his head. "I want to know what your full name is."

"Come on, Potter. It's late. I'm tired. Open the door!"

"How many more parts to your name are there anyway?" Harry persisted.

Malfoy frowned again, as if considering how much to tell his roommate. "A few."

"I generally count 'a few' as three," Harry said. "You?"

"Well, it's more than that!" the blond snapped.

"Just say them."

Malfoy shook his head.

"Why not? None of them can be worse than _Draconis _Scorpius_ Malfoy_," Harry teased. "Bet you wish you had my _common_ name now, huh?"

"POTTER!"

Harry smirked. "Give me the next one and I'll open the door."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Malfoy shook his head again.

"I think I'm gonna go for a walk," Harry said as he turned and slowly headed away.

"Come on, Potter. Please."

Holding up his index finger, Harry said, "Give me one more name and I'll open it up."

Huffing in frustration, Draco said, "Fine! But...I hate you!"

"_That_, I already know," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Draconis Scorpius _Lucius_ Malfoy," the gray-eyed boy said with a vicious glare at his roommate.

Both boys looked at the painting and waited. Nothing.

"Lucius, huh? Humph! We both have our dad's names in our name."

"Open the door, Potter!" Malfoy growled. "Now!"

"That was so not worth it," Harry said. "I could have guessed that one."

"Too bad. Open the door."

"Fine, but...I'm not always going to be here when you need to get in," Harry said, then turned and said his full, boring old name. "Harry James Potter."

And with a click, the painting swung open, allowing the two boys to enter.

"You suck, Potter," Malfoy grumbled as they walked through the short arched hallway and into their common room.

Several students were sitting around, but no one either boy felt like visiting with. They didn't, however, want to hang around with each other, so when Harry dropped into a lone cushiony chair and closed his eyes, the blond headed for their shared room.


	8. Close Call

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

ellesra (31 May, 2011) – This is still really good. ***~*~*~* Thanks, Sara...I thought maybe I'd scared you away, which was absolutely NOT my intention. =/ Glad you're still reading and think it's okay. =)**

**Author's Note**

Okay...so...finished writing chapter twelve, so I figured I owed you **chapter eight**...I hope you like. Again, please point out typographical errors (and the like), because I don't seem to see them anymore...and just CANNOT read this chapter again (it's too long)! =(

And finally, **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – That Shy Quiet Girl and Dragon-Kitten17.

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>2 June, 2011

**Word Count:** 4,819

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Eight**

"**Close Call"**

After consuming their required Wednesday morning breakfast in the Great Hall with everyone else, the "Eighths," as someone had affectionately called them, were starting to get up when the headmistress descended upon them—their class timetables in hand. Quickly, the beady-eyed woman handed them out, then rushed away—presumably to stand out in the hall to help direct the first years to their classes—leaving the _Eighths_ to peruse their schedules, then get to class when the bell rang.

"That sure is a lot of free periods," Hermione complained with a frown. As full as her schedule usually was, things were often quite difficult, but Hermione liked it that way—she liked the challenge.

Still standing next to her, Daphne shrugged. "What electives did you choose?"

"Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"Me as well," Daphne said. "Ancient Runes isn't my favorite, but I couldn't stand another year of Divination with that crackpot."

Hermione laughed quietly. "I know, huh? I suppose we could have taken it with Firenze though...I heard a lot of students liked him last year. He helped keep their minds off...things."

Daphne frowned. If truth be told, she was afraid of the centaurs...but she didn't mention that. "I suppose so," she agreed, "but...seems like such a useless subject."

"Unless you have _the gift_," Hermione said sarcastically while rolling her eyes. "Or so I'm told."

Daphne snorted. "_Right_! So then...why _exactly_ is Trelawney teaching that?"

Hermione laughed again. "My point exactly! That woman couldn't see anything even if it was written out on parchment and hovering inside her crystal ball."

Daphne grinned. "Or, in _her inner eye_."

Snorting, Hermione went on. "Besides, seems like a lot of guesswork, if you ask me. I mean, _anyone_ can make guesstimates."

"_You're_ funny, Granger," Daphne said with a laugh.

Hermione smiled. "You too, Greengrass."

Still smiling, Daphne went on. "So, what's this they've tacked on to Muggle Studies? I'm _assuming_ MS is Muggle Studies, anyway. _T_ and _U_? What in Merlin's name could _that_ be?"

"_No_ idea," Hermione said with a shrug—then frowned and pointed when she noticed something else strange. "And look, they've botched _this_ up too. DA/DADA?"

Daphne leaned in to look at where her roommate was tapping her index finger, then glanced at her own timetable; it was exactly the same. "That _is_ strange...even for this place."

"No kidding," Hermione agreed, wondering if the DA stood for Dumbledore's Army—or if they were going to be expected to actually study and use the Dark Arts—like the Carrows had been teaching the students of Hogwarts the previous year. Just the idea of what those two had put the students through made her shudder with revulsion. _That _couldn't_ be it_, she thought worriedly. "Maybe it's just a mistake."

"_Daphne_!" Pansy practically yelled as she came up and all but pushed Hermione to the side. "Move it, Mudblood!"

Daphne looked at the shorter girl and frowned. She'd been part of Pansy's group of girls since their first year, but didn't always agree with her beliefs and/or actions. But it was a scary time and most thought it best to align themselves with their own House. It may not be right, but...safety first! But now... Glancing apologetically at her roommate—who only pursed her lips and nodded, as if to say _see ya_, then walked toward the boys' table—Daphne sighed and said, "That wasn't very nice, Pansy. Hermione's actually been pretty okay."

Pansy snorted. "So, it's _Hermione_ now? Spend thirty-six hours with the Mudblood and now she's your best friend?"

Daphne frowned. "No. Darla's _still_ my best friend, but the war's over and...we can use all the friends we can get, Pansy."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't start with me, Daph! Have you already forgotten who you are?" she snarled—then went on before the blonde could respond. "Well, let me remind you. _You_, are a pure-blood. And _she_, is a Mudblood. We're not meant to mix," she finished, gesticulating angrily.

"_Shhh_! Not so loud, Pansy!" Daphne snapped, her voice as low as possible so that no one could overhear—not that Pansy seemed to care. "The war's over!"

"Yeah, and _our_ side lost to _them_!" hissed Pansy as she poked her index finger in the air in the direction that Hermione had gone.

Daphne shook her head. "Neither one of our families followed that...that _maniac_."

Pansy frowned. "It's _still_ embarrassing."

"The fact that _anyone_ blindly followed that lunatic is embarrassing."

Still frowning, Pansy bit her lip.

"What did you want anyway...before you practically shoved my roommate out of the way?"

"Um. Oh. I just wanted to see your timetable."

Daphne rolled her blue eyes. "It's the same as yours, except that you probably have Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, whereas I have Ancient Runes and Arithmancy."

Pansy frowned. "How'd you know?"

"Pansy, you've never taken Ancient Runes and Arithmancy," Daphne said with exasperation.

Pansy laughed. "Oh. Right!"

**XxXxXxX**

"Today looks easy," Harry said as his eyes roved over their schedules. "Herbology, free period, lunch, free period, History of Magic, free period, supper, evening break, then Astronomy at midnight."

"Yeah, if you don't mind being bored to tears in Binns' class," said Ron. "But, at least we have some free time."

Harry smiled. "_Lots_ of free time."

"You two look your schedule over completely yet?" Hermione asked as she walked up to them.

"Doin' that now, 'Ermione," Ron said as his girlfriend walked up to him. "Hey! I thought I told them I didn't wanna take Magical Creatures or Divination anymore," he complained.

"Our _electives_ don't seem to be _elective_ anymore," Harry said with a frown. "I didn't choose any either, but it seems we're enrolled anyway. And...MS/T/U? What the bloody hell is that?"

Ron frowned. "Twice a week too."

"It's got to be Muggle Studies...and something else. And they're apparently not giving us a choice in _that_ either...as if _I_ need Muggle Studies. _Hello_...grew up immersed in it! And look at Defense Against the Dark Arts," she went on, pointing at the piece of parchment in Ron's hand. "DA/DADA? Either someone's having us on or someone's made a mistake."

"Or someone wants to torture us!" Ron said.

Hermione frowned. "How do you mean?"

Ron pointed. "Dark Arts _and_ Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"I hope they didn't bring the Carrows back," Neville said fearfully.

Hermione shook her head. "They wouldn't do that, Neville. They _couldn't_ do that!" she said. "They both convicted Death Eaters and serving life-sentences at Azkaban."

Ron huffed, glanced at Draco Malfoy—who was just getting up from the table—glared, then looked back at his friends. "I've seen stranger things happen."

"Hey, you wanna head out to the changing room on our first free period and take a look at the Quidditch schedule?" Harry cut in to change the subject. "We need to book the pitch quick, so we can start putting a team together."

Easily distracted, Ron nodded, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Sure, mate!"

"I'm Seeker," drawled a voice from behind them.

Ron snorted. "Not bloody likely, Malfoy!" he snapped when he saw the blond standing there listening to them.

Draco narrowed his eyes and stepped up close to Ron. "You the captain now, Weasley, or do the rest of us have a say about team members and positions?"

"Just because _daddy_ bought your way onto the Slytherin team, doesn't mean you'll make _our_ new House team."

"I'm only going to say this once, Weasel...I _earned_ my way onto the Slytherin team. Ask anyone! Father only bought us new brooms _after_ he got word that I'd been made Seeker. I'm not sure who told him, but it wasn't me! And I resent the fact that _you people_ are constantly questioning my abilities."

Ron snorted again. "Likely story, Malfoy."

"And while we're talking about it," Draco went on, "let's get something else straight. Though I'm not thrilled about it myself, we're in the same House now...so I'd appreciate it if you'd kindly stop referring _our_ House as if I'm not a part of it. Because, like it or not, I live there too and have just as much a right to be there as you do! It's _our_ House and the Quidditch team is going to be _ours_ as well! And I want to be Seeker!"

"We'll see about that, Malfoy," Ron said, his face red with anger.

"Sure will," Draco said—almost sweetly.

"Everyone knows Harry's better than you are," Ron went on—which caused Malfoy to scowl.

"Oh yes. _Perfect_ Potter! Who needs the rest of us; maybe he can just play _every_ position!" And with that Malfoy turned and stormed off.

"_Merlin_, I hate him!" Ron ground out. "The git's so full of himself!"

Harry frowned. "Well, with only four of us having been on House teams before, we'll have to have try-outs, Ron. We need at least three more players...and maybe some alternates."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, good to have alternates for if people get hurt."

Harry nodded. "And, I'll be trying out as well," he said quietly.

"_What_?"

Hermione nodded her approval. "It's only fair, Ronald."

Ron's mouth hung agape. "But _Harry_, you've _always_ been Seeker," he complained.

"Yeah," Harry said with a nod. "But that was for _Gryffindor_, which we aren't anymore, so...well...the position should go to the best man."

Hermione beamed at him.

"And that's _YOU_, mate!" Ron yelled, his face turning red with exasperation.

"We'll see," Harry said with a shrug. "Wood used to say I'd make a fair Beater, so...I'm sure I'll be on the team in one position or another."

"Fuck Wood!" Ron cursed, his face now crimson.

"No thanks," Harry said at the same time that Hermione slapped Ron in the chest and said, "Oh, calm down, Ronald! It's just Quidditch and, if Harry's fine with any position, then why do you care?"

"I care because...because Malfoy's a right bastard and shouldn't even be allowed at this school, let alone on _our_ House team!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The war's over, Ron...and the Malfoys switched sides...you have to let it go."

Ron opened his mouth to protest further, but Hermione continued on.

"And Malfoy's right about one thing," she said. "We're all in the same House now. It's no longer _our House_ against _their House_. Draco Malfoy is a part of us now...and you have to get past the old rivalry, Ronald."

Again, Ron opened his mouth to speak—and once again Hermione cut him off.

"Now, we'd best be off to class. Good thing we have Herbology first today," she said as she walked off—both boys on her heels, "we'll be closer to the changing rooms after class. You two can hurry on over there and sign up for your silly pitch!"

**XxXxXxX**

Professor Sprout happily welcomed everyone back to school and promptly started class. Extremely excited about what she had to show them, she quickly herded them out of greenhouse nine, around the castle walls, and away from the castle toward the Quidditch pitch. They crossed the stream on the bridge just southwest of the pitch, then skirted the east side of the Forbidden Forest until they came to a narrow trail. After walking for under a minute on the trail, Professor Sprout grinned and presented to them a giant plant that seemed to be waving slightly, as if being blown in a breeze—except that there was none.

"Spread out, spread out...and come closer everyone. But don't get _too_ close!" the squat woman warned as her students neared.

"What is it?" Hannah Abbott whispered. She was standing at Neville's side, her hand linked with his, too afraid to get any closer to the gigantic, scary-looking...thing.

Neville shook his head. "Don't know."

On Hannah's other side, Ernie Macmillan stood next to his best friend Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was once again bickering with Michael Corner—over some ridiculous rooming matter—who gave Justin a irritated shove when the Muggle-born called him a wanker, causing him to collide with Daphne Greengrass, who was staring fearfully up at the _huge_ and extremely ugly plant. The hit wasn't hard, but it sent the ex-Slytherin girl down into the dirt, where she lay sprawled—and frozen in her fright.

"_Daphne_!" Hermione yelled, then started to move forward to help her roommate up, only to be yanked back by Ron.

"Stay still, Miss Greengrass. It's attracted to movement," Professor Sprout quietly, if not calmly—her voice was pitched with worry for the girl still lying in the dirt. She needn't have worried though, because Daphne didn't seem capable of moving.

And then the plant hissed, snapped its fanged jaws several times, then lurched—in Daphne's direction. And that's when both Harry and Hermione pulled out their wands.

"_Immobulus_!" Hermione screamed—just a moment after Harry sent out a stinging hex, which caused the plant to screech, but not stop its attack—then watched Harry rush forward, scoop up her terrified roommate, then turn and carry her out of harm's way.

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Professor Sprout as soon as Harry set a passed out Daphne at her feet. She then glared at the two boys who'd caused the ruckus. "Ten points each from...your House...whatever it's called, for irresponsibility in the face of the unknown."

Both Justin and Michael frowned—neither of them had ever lost their Houses points in Professor Sprout's class before—then glanced around to see the rest of their House glowering at them. Both mumbled an apology, which was ignored because the professor had turned from them and was looking at the girl at her feet. "She all right, Mr. Potter?"

"She's just fainted, Professor," he said.

Professor Sprout nodded. Then, as if nothing more exciting than a repotting of a Begonia had happened, she said, "She'll be fine then. Just leave her there and we'll get started. _This_," she continued, an arm held aloft to display the plant that had just tried to attack Daphne Greengrass, "is a Giant Flesh-eating Antirrhinum."

"A Giant Flesh-eating _Snapdragon_!" Hermione burst, still clearly upset. "Those things are dangerous!"

"Yes. They are _very_ dangerous, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout agreed. "I suppose we should have discussed this prior to actually coming out here, but I was just so excited to have found one right here on the grounds of Hogwarts. Nothing I can do about that now."

"_Great_," Draco whispered to Blaise, "another dangerous class with a brainless professor."

"So, who here can tell me about this particular plant?"

Her upset forgotten, Hermione's hand shot up in the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"_Antirrhinum_ is a genus of plants commonly known as snapdragons from the flowers' fancied resemblance to the face of a dragon that opens and closes its mouth when laterally squeezed. The antirrhinums used to be treated as the family Scrophulariaceae, but studies of DNA—Deoxyribonucleic acid—sequences have led to the inclusion of _Antirrhinum_ in a vastly enlarged family Plantaginaceae. The word "Antirrhinum" is derived from "antirrhinon," which in turn was derived from Greek anti, "like," and rhis, "nose", inus, "of" or "pertaining to." The name literally means "like a nose" in Ancient Greek and probably refers to the nose-like capsule in its mature state.

"_However_, the genus _Antirrhinum_ is rather misleading...as _common_ Garden Snapdragons are mainly named for their looks and are _completely_ harmless. The Giant Flesh-eating Antirrhinum, as most of its name should tell you, is a huge, _carnivorous_, semi-sentient plant that snaps and snarls at any living thing that gets within range...unless it has been properly subdued with an altered version of the Draught of Living Death potion...or apparently stunned with the Immobulus spell. The Giant Flesh-eating Antirrhinum is more closely related to the _Nepenthes rajah_, which is an insectivorous pitcher plant species of the _Nepenthaceae_ family."

"Oh _my_, Miss Granger. Most excellent! Twenty-five points to your House," Professor Sprout said, then pulled out a phial of Draught of Living Death and began explaining to them why they were there and what they were to do that morning. "We're collecting Screechsnap, which, for obvious reasons, resides at the base of the Giant Flesh-eating Antirrhinum plant."

"Oh. For _obvious_ reasons," Ron mumbled.

**XxXxXxX**

"Is there any teacher at this school who's _not_ completely out of his or her mind?" Pansy hissed as the group headed out of the Forbidden Forest. "Sprout is as bad as that Hagrid."

"Neither is _bad_," Hermione argued. "Sometimes things just...go wrong."

Pansy snorted. "Yeah, and almost get us killed."

Walking in between Pansy and her roommate, Daphne rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Pansy. A little shaken, but fine. And I still like Professor Sprout. Part of that was my own fault; I just couldn't move. I...I _really_ don't big things."

"I think that horrible plant is more suited to Hagrid's Magical Creatures' class," Pansy complained. "At least when you go to his class you're _expecting_ something dangerous."

Hermione chuckled—because it was true—and Pansy glared at her.

"What are you laughing about, Mudblo...er...Granger?" she finished because she heard Weasley's throat rumble.

After giving her boyfriend a silencing look, Hermione's brown eyes went to Pansy. "Laughing _with_ you, Parkinson, not _at_ you," she said. "And I happen to agree with you...about Sprout's Giant Flesh-eating Antirrhinum...it is, after all, semi-sentient...could very well be one of Hagrid's creatures."

"Humph!" was all the other girl could utter. She was at least placated by Hermione's words.

"Well, if those two _idiots_ weren't fighting, you wouldn't have gotten pushed too close to that disgusting man-eating plant thing," Millicent put in from Pansy's other side.

"I'm really sorry about that," Justin said quietly from behind the small group of girls.

Daphne turned to look over her shoulder at the boy she didn't know was there and shrugged. "No harm, no foul."

Justin tried to smile at the pretty blonde, but he still felt awful.

"Well, we can thank Merlin that Granger pays attention in Herbology and Potter's mindlessly brave at all times," Malfoy quipped, a scowl on his face.

Ron snorted. "Hermione doesn't need to pay attention in any class, she comes to class having already read all required books cover-to-cover _and_ some others. It's ridiculous! And Harry's just...well..._Harry_."

A few people laughed, including Harry and Hermione.

"Hey, I'm gonna head over to the changing room to see the Quidditch schedule and sign us up for the pitch," Harry said. "Anyone have any preferences or want to come?"

Ron, Draco, and Zacharias nodded emphatically, while a few others shrugged.

"Come on, everyone," Harry pushed. "Four of us have played on House teams, but we need at least three more. Honestly, I'd like to have several alternates."

"I really suck at flying, Harry," Justin admitted, "but Ernie's good and Sophie's fairly decent too."

"All right. Great!" Harry said enthusiastically. "That's two more. It shouldn't be _too_ hard to fill the spots."

"Daphne and I have played a bit," Millicent put in almost shyly. "Just for fun, mind you, but I'd be willing to give it a go if she will." She looked at her fellow ex-Slytherin and raised a questioning brow.

Daphne nodded. "But not now...I think I need to go lie down for a bit."

Ron narrowed his eyes and was about to say something about not wanting three Slytherins on the team—since he knew there was probably no chance of getting rid of Malfoy—but Harry spoke before he could open his mouth and...insert foot.

"All right. We'll just have to have everyone come out and get on a broom."

"Except me," Hermione said. "I'm shite at flying!"

"Didn't know you could curse, Granger," Blaise teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then said, "Piss off, Zabini, or I'll...hex your arse!"

Blaise laughed—as did Ron—then he glanced at Harry. "That goes double for me, Potter. I'll just sit in the stands with Granger here and watch. I'll keep her warm for you, Weasley," he said, his twinkling dark eyes going to his roommate teasingly.

Ron's mirth disappeared. "You'd better the hell not!"

Blaise laughed again—and Hermione blushed. "Well, let us know what you find. I'm going to head inside. _Ladies_?" he said as he draped an arm around, first Daphne's shoulder, and then Hermione's. "Shall we?" Then, after a few steps, he looked at Hermione and said, "What was it you said I'd have to do to get you to _hex my arse_, Granger?"

Hermione laughed, then turned and slapped her boyfriend's roommate on the chest, but Ron's face turned red. "I...um. You don't need me to check the schedule, do you, Harry?"

Pretending to be oblivious, Harry shook his head. "No, 'course not, Ron. You go on up."

"You don't need me either, do you?" Zacharias queried.

Not a big fan of Zacharias, Harry shook his head, then looked at Draco. "Guess it's just us, Malfoy."

"Fabulous! Why is it that I keep ending up with you?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno!

"Elegant, as always, Potter."

"Yep!"

**XxXxXxX**

As it turned out, they were the first House to check out the schedule, so they had their pick of the place. And the normal order of things was off too; the Quidditch games didn't seem to be where they'd always been.

"Hey. Look at this," Draco said with a nod. "The Gryffindor/Slytherin game isn't the first game of the year."

Harry frowned. "_Or_ the second."

"_We're_ first," Draco went on, clearly surprised. "And the game's early. October seventeenth? That's not even _seven_ weeks!"

Harry shrugged. "Well, they have to fit in four more games this year, so..." He let his words trail off.

"We better get started with our team!" Draco exclaimed.

"Don't worry, Malfoy, every other House has to re-man their team, so we're all in the same boat."

"Yeah, but _our game_ is first, Potter. Look!" he said as he jabbed a finger at the schedule.

Harry shrugged. "Who cares. Six weeks is plenty of time. All the Houses have lost their seventh-years and we have four of them! We're good," he said with a nod. "We'll be fine."

The blond smirked. "We'll be _better_ than good, Potter. We've got _me_!"

Harry snorted. "You're _such_ an arrogant bastard!" he said with a shake of his head.

"_Humph_! I'm a lot of things, Potter, but a 'bastard' isn't one of them. My parents were properly wed when I was conceived and born."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine then. Arrogant git. Arrogant arse. Arrogant shit. Arrogant fucker! Shall I continue?"

"No. That'll do," Draco ground out. Then, after a few minutes of silence, he went on. "Where'd that filthy mouth of yours come from anyway, Potter? I don't remember such expletives coming out of it before."

Harry shrugged. "The war, I guess. Does something to you."

Draco frowned—but he nodded too. He understood, because the war had changed them all.

"So. We've got a lot of free time during the week," said Harry. "What times would you prefer for practice?"

Draco looked at the blank schedule grid and shrugged. "Nothing too early."

Harry nodded. "I'm not a morning person either."

"Yes. So I've heard. You're _worthless_ before your morning coffee," Draco said. "Though, I'm not sure lack of _coffee_ has anything to do with your worthlessness."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Could we just think about Quidditch here...for just a moment? _Then_ you can go back to insulting me."

Draco grinned. "That's _excellent_! Really?"

"Sure, Malfoy. I don't know what I'd do without a day of you harassing me," Harry said, his voice teeming with sarcasm.

"I think you've got that backwards, Potter," Draco disagreed. "You're always riding me."

"Uh-uh! It's you, Malfoy," Harry said. "But don't worry, I _live_ for it."

"So...you _like_ it then...all the harassment and fighting?" the blond asked, ignoring the fact that his green-eyed companion was looking at him with disdain. "_Figures_. You know, Potter, that's pretty sick. I can just imagine the time that you spend with the Weaslette. Do you like it when she gets rough too? Or is it just me?" Then, an image of Potter and the Weasley girl's extracurricular activities forming in his mind, Draco shuddered. "Wonderful. Now I'm going to be thinking about you and _her_ for the rest of the day. That's just disgusting!"

Harry snickered. "Not _my_ fault."

"It's _always_ your fault!" Draco accused. "But, since we're on the subject...I bet the Weasley girl's a wildcat, huh?"

Frowning, Harry glanced away and pretended to study the blank schedule.

"Come on, Potter, you can tell me," Draco persisted. "What's she like?"

Ignoring Malfoy, Harry said, "Can we just pick some times here?"

"That wild, huh?"

"Iwouldn'tknow," Harry mumbled—so low that the other boy couldn't make out what he said.

"What was that?" Draco said as he leaned up against the wall and studied his roommate.

Harry just shook his head.

"Come _on_, Potter! You've _got_ to give me something."

"I don't have to give you anything, Malfoy."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glanced away—pretending to pout.

"Okay. Fine! I _said_, 'I wouldn't know,' all right? Happy now?" Harry snarled.

Dropping his folded arms to his sides and pushing off the wall, Draco frowned. "You mean to tell me you haven't gotten her knickers off yet?"

"Um. No. I haven't," Harry said, then swallowed. "To be honest, I haven't tried."

Draco snorted. "Why the hell not?"

"Not that it's any of _your_ business, but...she's my best friend's sister," Harry explained.

"So."

"So...what if it doesn't work out?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "_So_?"

"_So_...I'm not like that," said Harry. Then, because the blond's face had taken on a look that told Harry his rival had no idea what he was talking about, he went on. "The Weasleys are like family, Malfoy. It's not as simple as just getting _her knickers off_." Then pointing at the schedule again, Harry said, "Now, can we get back to _this_?"

Draco shook his head and held up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You _like_ her, and you _want_ her, but you won't make a move because she's _like family_?"

Harry sighed. "Well yes...and no, but it's more complicated than that. I fully intend on being with her and...we _were_ almost there before...last year, but..." Shrugging, he said, "I don't know. I think we both need more time."

"_More time_?" Draco burst in disbelief. "I think you're _wasting_ time!"

"Well, I really don't care _what_ you think, Malfoy!" Harry snapped.

"Yeah, you've said that before, but here you are telling me _everything_, aren't you?" Draco said. "But fine. If you don't mind watching the Weaslette with others, then...I won't let it bother me either."

Harry ground his teeth—because Malfoy just wouldn't shut up—then jabbed his finger at the schedule..._again_! "What. Time. Do. You. Want?"

Sighing, and pretending boredom, Draco said, "Let's take the ten to a quarter of eleven on Mondays."

Harry nodded again and filled in that slot.

"And...how about this one, Wednesdays from one until a quarter of two?"

Quickly, Harry wrote _Eighths_ in that slot.

"We should come up with a name," Draco said. "_Eighths_ is bent!"

Harry shrugged. "Who cares. Can you see yourself as anything other than a snake?" he asked with a smirk.

"Touché, _Lion_!"

"Rawwrrr!"

"That was a _pathetic_ roar," Draco said with an arrogant flipping of his hair.

"Focus, Malfoy," Harry said as he snapped his fingers in the blond's face. "We're allowed two more."

"I know!" Draco snapped, irritated by Potter's snapping fingers. "I can read you know!"

Harry sighed. "If that's the case, then...why aren't you choosing a time?"

Glaring at Harry, and not even bothering to look at the available slots, Draco said, "Fridays, quarter of three until half past three."

"Last one has to be on a weekend," said Harry.

"I _know_, Potter! Merlin, you act like I'm new here."

"I'm just saying, Malfoy. Why do you have to be such an arse?"

"Not early...or late."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Before or after lunch?"

"After."

"Saturday or Sunday?"

"Saturday. I don't want to have to practice with a hangover."

"There are potions for that, you know," was all Harry could say as he filled in the Saturday, one to half past two slot. "You are, after all, a wizard."

"What do you know about hangover potions, Potter?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally, but didn't respond to the blond's question otherwise. "You know, we'll lose the Saturday time slot on days there's an actual game," Harry pointed out.

"Of course. Your point?"

Harry shrugged. "No point. Just saying."

"How often do you think we'll use it anyway...on Saturdays, I mean?" Draco asked with a shrug of his own—before quickly going on. "Don't answer that! I _really_ don't care what you think."

Harry snorted. "As I said before, Malfoy, the feeling's mutual."

"_Merlin_, Potter, your writing's like hippogriff scratch!" Draco said with a scowl. "Remind me to do the writing from now on."

"Arrogant. _Fucker_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Just a comment on their class **schedules/timetables**...I've scoured the Lexicon to put together a plausible schedule for them, but it's really limited. Clearly they don't have every subject every day, but I wonder how many times a week they have each class. The books talk about "double potions," so I'm assuming there are days (or just a day) where they have potions that's not double-length. But, are some (or all) of their other classes that way too? IDK. So, I'm just going to have to do my own thing, as far as scheduling goes. I've made one in a Word document (so I can stick to it...because I'm weird that way) and I'd be more than happy to email it to anyone who cares to have it (my email addie s/b in my profile, please put "Eighths Timetable" as the subject).

Further, just a note for anyone who's interested...there are some differences between **British** and **American** **English** where spelling and grammar are concerned. Placement of punctuation in and around quotation marks is one of those differences (or so I am told). So, if you notice that my periods and commas are _always_ on the inside of my quotation marks, it should be obvious to you that I'm an AMERICAN and that I'm not wrong...I'm just following our American English grammar. The same goes for the spelling of certain words. Now, for the most part, you will _never_ see (or hear) me put an "s" on the end of words that end in –ward (forward, backward, upward, downward), because, here in the U.S., we don't do that (aren't supposed to). However, since this is a _Harry_ _Potter_ fan fiction (a story based on books written by a _British_ woman), I'm trying to write my dialogue the British way (pronunciation-wise), so I did include a "backward**s**" in there. In saying this though...if any of you Brits find something that just _would not_ be said, I would LOVE to know (feel free to PM me at any time), because I love to learning new shit! =) That's not to say I'll go back and change things, or adopt your way in the future, but I really do like to have as much information as possible. Thanks!


	9. Not Ready

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

**IDK how to do this except to respond to each part separately...sorry, I know it makes it _look_ like I have more "reviews" than I do, but...what can I do? =/**

Skullera (3 June, 2011) – you're funny. your AN have me giggling away. Just wondering. are you Bad-Ass in the old US, or is it just your writing that comes across that way? lol. You're really funny. ***~*~*~* Well, yes, I do tend to be somewhat "bad-ass" (you're definitely **_**not**_** the first person to use that term to refer to me). If I could go back twenty years and be young again, I'd go into the United States Air Force, then become a cop after serving in the military...not that that makes me a bad-ass or anything, but...well...I **_**very much**_** can hold my own. =) About the funny...hmm...IDK...I don't see it. I truly don't intend to be, but I guess I make myself giggle sometimes too. *grin* A very good friend of mine **(*waves frantically at Christie122*)** tells me my **_**stories**_** are funny, which I don't see either...unless she reads them out loud to me...then I see it. I guess, when I'm reading my stuff to myself, I don't use the same inflection that someone else reading might.**

Skullera (3 June, 2011) – Anyway, just come across your story. Really well planned out and very well written. I do very much enjoy a well written story :) The relationships bewteen the characters and their slowly developing friendships are all quite beleivable and I love the interaction between Harry and Draco of course. ***~*~*~* Thank you! The funny part about this is that it's so NOT planned out. I have ideas for some of the things I want to happen (bits and pieces), but I **_**really**_** have no idea where this is going. LOL. Where I am right now in the writing part (up to chapter twelve), I've written FAR more Ginny than I'd had "planned" (no Harry/Ginny, for those of you that care…er…except for a quick kiss in this chapter)...and I'm having serious trouble getting the characters through their first week of classes at Hogwarts. Through the twelve chaps that I've written it's only been four **_**damned**_** days for them. GRRR! As for the friendships being believable...cool...obviously that's what I'm going for. *grin* Of course, there'll probably be some ups and downs along to the way. =)**

Skullera (3 June, 2011) – Not that it's definite that they are going to be together, as you've told us before, everything is still up in the air. You may even change your mind and have him not shipped at all! ***~*~*~* Yeah...IDK...and I apologize if that's what you want and it doesn't occur. Like I said, I love reading Harry/Draco stories (my "favorites" is filled with some **_**really**_** good ones), but I'm not sure if I can actually write one of my own. I'm having a similar problem with another story I'm writing where I want to write a fem-slash one-shot, but...IDK...I almost feel like, since I haven't experienced it myself, how can I write it and have it be believable? Conversely, I'm not a man who's been with a man. Does that make sense? Maybe I ought to go interview some gay men about their sex. Hehe.**

Skullera (3 June, 2011) – ps: The litte firstie called Le Noire: I had the most hilerious theory about him when you introduced him. I was like one minute: Is he Harry's and Draco's son from the future? And the next minute, I was snickering to myself because... well I dunno... I just found it funny I guess. 0_0 :cough: ***~*~*~* Well, sorry to disappoint...but no, Merak Le Noire **(it was Marcus, but I changed it at some point and forgot to change it in here...it's now been changed...don't care for the name Merak either, but…whatever)** is not Harry and Draco's son come back from the future **(though that's an interesting idea)**. I have a family tree if you wish to see it **(let me know, I'll email it to you)**, but I can just tell you...Merak Le Noire is Alphard Black's grandson. Alphard Black was disowned from the Black family for giving money to his runaway nephew** (Sirius Black)** way back when **(this part is canon)**. Now, after that **(and the rest of this is NON-canon)**, Alphard Black moved to France and changed his last name from Black to Le Noire **(which I think means Black in French...I hope)**...he married and had two sons** (Magnus and Marcellus)**...Marcellus married Sylvia Devereaux** (and Magnus married Lexi Delecour, whose mother was Alexis Potter)**, who was the daughter of Jacque and Samantha Devereaux. Samantha Devereaux's maiden name was Potter **(Samantha and Alexis are sisters)** and she was the daughter of Alexandrus and Sophia Potter. Sophia Potter's maiden name was Malfoy** (second connection to Draco)**...and Alexandrus Potter was Harry's great-grandfather's brother. Clear now? LMAO! I'm sure the family tree would be easier to follow. *giggle***

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – x-xLittle-Miss-Brown-Eyesx-x (wow, that's quite the pen name :p), darken-dreams, Skullera, and Tissaia de Vriess24...I greatly appreciate it! =)

* * *

><p><strong>Posted:<strong> 8 June, 2011

**Word Count:** 3,107

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Nine**

"**Not Ready"**

As Harry had expected, their House Quidditch try-out took all forty-five minutes of their scheduled pitch time after lunch that day. All twenty Eighths showed up, though eight of them—ex-Gryffindor, Hermione, Lavender, and Neville; ex-Hufflepuff, Hannah and Justin; ex-Ravenclaw, Mandy; and ex-Slytherin, Blaise and Pansy—parked themselves in the stands to watch, all saying they'd do the team better by not actually playing on the team.

"All right," Harry called out loudly to the eleven standing there looking at him. "Only four of us have been on House teams before, so we'll need to have a full try-out."

Frowning, Draco said, "What do you mean by _full try-out_, Potter?"

Sighing, because he'd expected Malfoy to question him—_Merlin_, he was _so_ predictable!—Harry glanced at the blond and said, "If you'd just give me a minute, Malfoy, then I'd have a chance to explain."

Draco scowled. "And why is it that _you're_ the one holding this _try-out_?"

"Because Harry's the best bloody player we've got, Malfoy," Ron barked. "So why don't you just shut it and let him talk!"

His mouth opening to reply, Draco was cut off by his roommate.

"HEY!" Harry yelled to get their attention. "Why don't the _both_ of you just _shut it_!" His gaze went from his best mate—whose face was flushed with anger—to the still-scowling Malfoy, then back to Ron. "Ron, I told you that I'd be trying out as well. If we're to put the best possible team together, with very few people willing or able to play, then we need to find the best combination of players...and that just may not be me as Seeker."

Ron frowned, but Draco's scowl melted, his cold gray eyes shifting to more of a soft liquid silver. "You _serious_, Potter?"

"Of course. We wanna to win, don't we?" Harry asked with a grin.

Nodding, Draco shifted his gaze to Ron and smirked—causing Ron's frown to deepen into a scowl of his own.

"Now. Malfoy," Harry went on, his head turning so that he was looking into his roommate's shining eyes, "you're a _brilliant_ Seeker...when you're not completely distracted by trying to beat me."

Draco had started to smirk, but that froze after Harry's words. "How _dare_ you say—"

"Would you just _let me finish_?" Harry snapped, his emerald eyes flashing with frustration, which effectively cut the blond off. For a second Malfoy stared at him, then he gave a clipped nod—and Harry went on. "I've watched you play against other Seekers and you're _really_ good. And then I come in and it's like you don't care about anything except tormenting me."

"That's not true!" Draco argued—though he knew he was lying.

Harry nodded. "Yes. It is true. When you're playing against me it's like you couldn't give a shite whether or not you catch the Snitch. I mean, you want to catch it and _win_, but..." Harry frowned. "It's like you feel the need to draw the game out as long as possible or something."

"That's fucking bullshit, Potter!" Draco growled. "Absolutely absurd! I just like a good game."

Harry cocked his head and raised a brow.

"Is there something wrong with wanting a good, competitive game?" the blond asked, his face flushing with his anger.

Harry shook his head vehemently. "No. Of course not. I feel _great_ after kicking your arse all over the pitch," he said, a taunting grin on his lips—then went on quickly so that the other boy wouldn't explode. "But I don't believe you for a second, Malfoy. We've been fighting since we were eleven years old and we _definitely_ bring our rivalry onto to the pitch. It's not just you. I do it too."

Draco's mouth opened to argue again, but it quickly snapped shut when someone else spoke.

"He's right, Draco," Daphne said, cutting in before her ex-Slytherin housemate could fly into a rage.

Draco's eyes narrowed angrily at the pretty girl, then he took a deep breath and looked at his roommate again. "Okay. So...what are you saying, Potter."

"I'm saying that we'll _all_ try out and see who works best with whom," Harry said with a shrug. "And, who's to say that every game has to be played by the same seven players? Just because that's the way it's always been done, doesn't mean we can't mix things up a bit.

"What do you mean?" Zacharias asked.

"Well, we'll have to think about our old teams and how they play," Harry explained. "They'll have some new players, of course, but we all know the strengths and weaknesses of our previous teams...and we can exploit that."

Draco cocked his head. "You mean like, Bletchley couldn't keep his eyes off Flint's arse, which made his Keeping spotty at best."

With a grin, Harry nodded. "_Exactly_. Both of them are gone now, but that's precisely what I'm talking about. For us to form a decent team, we'll have to actually _be_ a team."

The group nodded. "All right, Harry," someone said. "What do you want us to do?"

"Well first, we're gonna play clean," Harry said, his eyes going to the three ex-Slytherins who were trying out. "There'll be no Bludgers hit at the other teams' players. That's just bad form."

Daphne nodded, but Draco scowled again. "But that's _boring_."

Harry shook his head. "I don't care, Malfoy. I want our team taken seriously. People are already going to complain that we've got the oldest players and some are going to say that's not fair."

Draco frowned. "Been doing some thinking on this, have you?"

Harry nodded. "I have.

"So, nominated yourself as the captain then?" Draco growled.

"Only if that's what everyone wants," Harry said. "But I don't have to be."

"I'm fine with it," Michael Corner quickly said, then shrugged, "whether I make the team or not."

Several others nodded.

Harry smiled and mumbled a thank you, then looked at the group. "But how about we have two captains? I'll gladly be one of them if that's what you all want, but maybe having two would make everyone more comfortable."

"I nominate Draco," said Millicent Bulstrode.

Harry glanced around—to see if anyone would protest or nominate someone else—then shrugged. "Looks like we're co-captains, Malfoy. Happy now?"

Draco snorted, folded his arms over his chest, and glanced away. "Not hardly, but it's a start."

"All right then," Harry went on. "Should we get started?"

"Wait! How are _you_ going to try out if you're busy captaining?" Millicent asked with a sneer. "Who'll be the judge of _you_?"

Harry shrugged. "We could all vote on it...even those not trying out can give us an opinion."

"That sounds fair," Morag MacDougal said with a nod.

"I suppose," Millicent huffed.

"So, let's start with a basic flying test. We'll all fly around the pitch, one at a time so everyone can watch that one person fly, weaving in and out of the goal posts at each end to show maneuverability. I'll go first, just in case there's any confusion."

Everyone nodded—then watched as Harry got on his broomstick and took off. They were standing in about the middle of the pitch, so he flew toward the side first, then turned left and sped length-wise down the pitch, round the end, then slowed some to weave his way around the first post, then reversed his direction to go out between the second and third posts, then turned and sped the full length of the pitch to do the same thing at the other end, before speeding back around the outside and turning inward to where everyone waited.

"Look easy enough?" he asked after gently touching down in front of the watching group.

"Easy enough for _you_, Harry," Sophie Roper said, looking somewhat dejected.

Harry grinned at the ex-Hufflepuff. "You'll do fine. Who's next?"

One by one, everyone else flew around the pitch in a manner similar to the way Harry had done, and he was quite pleased by everyone's performance. For a moment he remembered the painfully ridiculous try-outs he'd held in sixth-year where Romilda Vane and some of her silly friends managed to do nothing more than fall about giggling and clutching one another—he'd promptly sent them away—and then he'd had to send away a group of Hufflepuffs and a couple Ravenclaws who thought it humorous to attend a _Gryffindor_ try-out. That try-out had been the worst two hours ever!

After the flying test, Harry—and Draco—had them go through a few other flying drills, and then a Snitch and the Bludgers were released, and a Quaffle was tossed up, and everyone was told to take turns at each position—to accurately test abilities.

Quickly though, their time on the pitch came to an end, so the Bludgers were wrestled back into their trunk, the Snitch and Quaffle put there as well, and then everybody—the watching Eighths included—gathered beside it.

"All right," Harry began. "As a group we've decided that both Malfoy and myself will be team captains, but also that all twenty of us will vote on who plays each position...to make it fair. So, I hope you were paying attention to our try-outs."

"Of course we were, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry smiled. "Okay. So. I'd say Ron's our best Keeper, though Morag came in a close second."

Everyone nodded, including Morag—even the ex-Slytherins agreed, though reluctantly.

"What about Chasers?" Harry asked.

Hermione's hand went up. "We could use a modified version of Justin's hat voting method to decide," she said. "We can spell a hat to spit out the most-voted-for names only...or maybe spit them out in order, best suited first and so on."

When all seemed agreeable—and they had a hat—Harry held it out for them to drop their pieces of parchment in—and they quickly had, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Zacharias Smith, Quincy Rivers, Sophie Roper, and finally Michael Corner.

Frowning, Draco said, "But I want to be Seeker."

"Well, you don't get everything you want, Ferret!" Ron snapped—which caused Draco to bristle.

"Fuck off, Weasel!"

Several people rolled their eyes, but it was Harry who intervened. "Come on, guys," he said. "Let's get this finished, _then_ we can discuss things."

Everyone nodded—including Draco.

"Shall we do the same for Beaters?"

More nodding—and after a minute they had, Michael Corner, Ernie Macmillan, Harry Potter, Millicent Bulstrode, Ronald Weasley, and Quincy Rivers.

Then, doing the same for Seeker, they ended up with, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and Lila Malone.

"Okay, so if I've got this right, the Keeper is Ron, Chasers are Draco, Daphne, and Zacharias, Beaters are Michael and Ernie, and I'm the Seeker," Harry said as he ticked up a finger for each name. Looking at each person he waited for some sign that they agreed.

Somewhat placated by _at least_ being chosen as second Seeker, Draco gave a clipped nod. He'd always known that Potter was a better Seeker—not that he cared to admit it—but the group _had_ voted him in as first Chaser, and that felt good.

"But this, by no means, means that these positions are set in stone. For instance, for our game against Gryffindor I think Malfoy should be Seeker."

"_What_?" burst Ron. "Why?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because he doesn't want to play against Ginny, Ronald."

"It's not that I don't _want_ to play against her," Harry objected. "It's more that I don't want to take the chance that I'll not give it everything I have because I'm playing against Ginny. So, for that game, Malfoy should be our Seeker...or Lila...and we'll make similar adjustments throughout the year for situations like this."

"Wow, Potter, I'm impressed. Maybe the sorting hat put you in the wrong House after all," said Pansy—clearly thinking he belonged in Slytherin.

Harry chuckled. "It's funny you'd say that, Parkinson, because—"

"Harry would have made quite a decent Ravenclaw," Michael Corner threw out, cutting off their team Seeker.

Hermione snorted at this. "Harry is _no_ Ravenclaw," she said with an almost violent shake of her head. "Unless, of course, you Eagles are accustomed to waiting to the last minute to get your homework done." Then, at their appalled looks, she said, "I thought not."

Flashing his long-time friend a dirty look—teasing as it was—Harry looked from Hermione to those who'd been chosen as alternates. "Are you all okay with this?" Surprisingly he was met with nods—even from Millicent Bulstrode. Relieved, Harry smiled at everyone, then said, "Shall we call this finished then...and hit the showers?"

**XxXxXxX**

As the Eighths walked into the small building that housed the changing rooms and showers, Harry was suddenly confronted by an angry red-haired girl.

"Harry _James_ Potter!" Ginny Weasley hollered. "You took Gryffindor's favorite practice time on Saturdays."

Harry stared at her for a second, then said, "Um. Ginny. If you remember correctly, that time slot was _my_ favorite practice time, that's why I always took it for Gryffindor. And since it's _still_ my favorite time...I took it again."

"Well...well that time's all I've...ever known," she sputtered.

"Well, you'll just have to pick another time, Weaslette!" Draco cut in. "Because my co-captain and I got down here first, we got first pick."

Her eyes widening, she glared at the boasting blond. "You shut it, Malfoy! I wasn't talking to you!" she snapped, then rounded on Harry again. "Fine then, it's yours!" she said, then turned to leave.

Harry frowned, then quickly reached out and grabbed her arm before she could get too far away—because he didn't like that he'd upset her. "I wasn't thinking, Ginny, I'm sorry."

Draco snorted. "You're such a push over, Potter."

"Sod off, Malfoy!" both Harry and Ginny yelled in unison.

Snickering, Draco turned and followed the others into the boy's changing room, leaving Harry in the hallway to deal with Ginny.

"I really am sorry," Harry said as soon as the door closed behind his roommate. "Malfoy and I came down here during our free period and I let him choose what times we'd practice. I really didn't think about it, Ginny."

Still frowning, the girl shrugged. "Whatever, Harry. It's okay. I do remember that _that_ time slot always was your favorite...and you _did_ get here first," she said with a slight smile. "I chose the one afterward."

Harry smiled his relief; he didn't want Ginny mad at him.

"So. You put a team together. That was fast."

Harry nodded.

"It'll be weird playing against you," Ginny said with a frown.

Harry nodded again, but didn't tell her he'd not be Seeker for their game—some things had to be kept secret, for the sake of his new team.

"I don't like it."

"You and me both, Gin."

Then Ginny's nose wrinkled with disgust. "And I can't _believe_ you have to have _Malfoy_ on your team. After all he and his family have done." She shuddered. "He's such a wanker!"

Harry grinned. "Tell me about it. Try sharing a room with him. You should hear him nag."

Ginny shook her head. "I don't even want to think about that, Harry. It's just so...strange."

Harry nodded. "He's actually not been too bad," he admitted—then went on when Ginny's forehead scrunched up. "I mean...he _is_ a snarky bastard...and he questions everything I say and do, but...he's not been horrible."

"Humph! Well, I'll have to see it to believe it, but...I suppose _anyone_ can change."

"I guess."

"So, Harry," Ginny started—then paused. "Um. I was wondering. About...us."

Harry's eyebrows raised, but he waited. He'd been wondering when they'd have to talk about this, but hadn't wanted to bring it up. This was sooner than he'd hoped for, but what could he do? He really wasn't ready to resume their relationship, but also didn't want to lose her. He wanted to marry Ginny Weasley—someday—and if the only way to do that was to commit to her now, then he'd do it. But still...he'd like some more time.

"You, ahh...you know I love you right, Harry?" Ginny asked, then she bit her lip and her face instantly flushed crimson.

Harry smiled and nodded. "Er...yeah, Ginny...I feel the same," he said, then reached out and took her hands in his.

Frowning, she went on. "So. Um. Well, that just makes this harder," she said—then quickly went on when he frowned. "What I mean to say is, I love you, Harry, and I want to be your wife...someday. I do." Then her eyes filled with tears and she practically choked on her next words. "But not yet. I'm not ready for this just yet, Harry," she said with a shake of her head.

Relieved, Harry pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "That's okay, Gin. I understand."

"You're not angry?" she asked, sniffling against his shoulder.

"'Course not. To be honest, I was thinking the same thing," he admitted.

She pulled back. "Really?"

He nodded. "Make no mistake though," he said quickly, "I'd like to make you my wife one day, but..." He shrugged. "We've got _years_ ahead of us to make that happen, yes?"

Slowly, Ginny nodded. "Yeah, I suppose, but...what if...?"

"What if one of us wants to date during the time we're not...together?" he asked, swallowing hard against the jealousy that burned within him.

She nodded. "Won't it be weird?"

Harry shrugged. "It might be. But we're not married yet, Ginny. After school I'll have a lot of training to do to become an Auror and you're going to want to do something, right?"

Nodding, Ginny said, "I've been thinking about that too. I think I'd like to consider professional Quidditch...maybe."

Harry grinned. "I think that would be _brilliant_, Gin!"

Her face lit up. "Yeah? You do?"

"_Definitely_," Harry said, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You're a first-rate Seeker, Ginny. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see you playing professionally."

"So...we're okay then?" she asked, her bright brown eyes still shining with tears as she looked up at her _someday_ husband.

"Yep," he said. "We're good. We'll just...play things by ear." Then he frowned. "But, could you do me a favor and...not date any of the boys in my House? That would be...awkward."

Laughing, the girl nodded. "Sure, Harry..._anything_ for you! But...no Gryffindor girls for you then," she said through narrowed eyes. "I'd hate to have to hear one of my Housemates talking about _my_ future husband."

Harry chuckled. "Done!"

And they sealed the deal with a kiss—a wet one!

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Okay...so...as much as I _love_ reading Harry with Draco, you've probably guessed that I don't like Ginny-bashing (she's not my favorite character, but I do like her...and I'm fine with JKR pairing her with Harry)...I can't _stand_ it when people make Ginny out to be awful just because they want to pair Harry with Draco (or another HP character). I mean, there's more than one way to skin a cat (which I've actually done, BTW...university anatomy/physiology course)...er...I mean...there's more than one way to get rid of her...that's NOT making her out to be a mean shrew? _Sooo_...you won't see that here...the Ginny-bashing, I mean. =)

**Questions/comments**...you are welcome to ask/make them. And since I love responding, I'll answer every single one! =)


	10. Professors, Old and New

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

ellesra (9 June, 2011) – So, does that last comment mean that we are going to see someone skinning a cat? 0_o That sounds very disturbing. But it's your fic, I guess. xD ***~*~*~* LMAO. No, you will not see any cat-skinning in this fic...though I did skin a deer (I think it was a deer) in my "After the Death Curse" fic (which is set in ice age with hunter-gatherer peoples). And the comment about **_**me**_** actually skinning a cat...well, I was taking an anatomy/physiology class in college and that was part of the course. Had to choose a cat in a bag of formaldehyde, skin it, then dissect it. It was an interesting experience and, dare I admit, quite fun. We had cadavers in the class too (Neil and...I don't remember the female's name)...they smelled like beef jerky!**

ellesra (9 June, 2011) – I like the chapter, and how you made Ginny. You write very... Canon-ly. Well, I'm wondering how you're going to get Draco into this whole "marrying" thingie. Will be entertaining to find out, either way. ***~*~*~* Hmm. Well, as I said, **_**if**_** Harry and Draco have a thing, it's only going to be a fling-thing (I did say that somewhere, I believe), so there'll be no getting Draco into the whole "marrying thingie." **_**If**_** I can work Harry and Draco into each other's pants while they're finishing their seventh year, that'll be all that it is...maybe. I suppose they could have flings over the years following Hogwarts...but only if Ginny's okay with it, because cheating makes me nervous. :p And, thanks for the "Canon-ly" comment...that's totally what I'm going for (except for some of the weirdo things I've already written that I haven't posted yet). It's hard with some characters though...because we don't really know too much about them...I've included several that we don't really know well, but...well, I'm mostly sticking to those we do. =)**

**Author's Note**

Now, on to _this_ chapter...**Chapter Ten**...and a few characters you don't know (because I made them up). Well...one is from something else (I'll let you try to figure out who she might be...I've given her name, so it might not be too difficult), but I had to alter time to get her here (since her timeline doesn't match this one at all). *grin*

Okay...so...**thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – CGFlare, eas105, saribel192, Drac, and imblessed. And...if I've missed someone...I am so _soooo_ sorry.

* * *

><p><strong>Posted:<strong> 13 June, 2011

**Word Count:** 3,482

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Ten**

"**Professors, Old and New****"**

The rest of their first day wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They had History of Magic with Professor Binns, who _had to be_ the most boring ghost in all of Great Britain—possibly the entire European continent—then some free time and their required Wednesday evening dinner in their House dining room—which was, surprisingly, a quiet affair—and then Astronomy with Professor Sinistra, where they were informed that, though there'd still be _some_ observational classes during their scheduled midnights in the beginning of the year—for review of years one through six—_most_ of their seventh-year would consist of lectures in equal parts of extragalactic astronomy and physical cosmology, and the writing of a lengthy term paper based on one of _many_ cosmological theories. Needless to say, most of them weren't overly pleased about the coming year in Astronomy.

"Astronomy's supposed to be a _relaxing_ class," Ron complained as they walked to the Great Hall the next morning. "Lying back...star-gazing and whatnot."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, it's not, Ronald," she said with a shake of her head. "There's a lot out there to learn about."

Ron frowned. "But why the bloody hell do we need to know about stars and planets and the like, anyway? It's seems pointless!"

"Because it's fascinating," Hermione argued.

"To _you_."

"Why do you always fight learning, Ron?" she asked in frustration.

"Don't think you're getting anywhere with the Weasel, Granger," Draco said from behind them.

"Piss off, Malfoy!" Ron snapped.

Ignoring the blonde, Hermione went on. "It's all just so awesome," she said excitedly. "I mean, it's so enormous and...infinite, you know? And we're _nothing_ by comparison."

Draco chuckled at his classmate's obvious thirst for knowledge. "Never thought of it that way, Granger," he said. "Have you an idea on what topic you'd like to do your paper?"

Hermione frowned. "I _like_ to do it on several, but...that's not possible. I'm quite fascinated by Babylonian cosmology, particularly that depicted in the _Enûma Eliš_, and the belief that there is a plurality of heavens and earths. But I'm also extremely interested in Nicolaus Copernicus and his heliocentric universe that he wrote about in _De revolutionibus orbium coelestium_. But there's _also_ Olbers' Paradox," she finished, looking frustrated that she had to make a choice.

"Oh _Merlin_, 'Ermione!" Ron burst. "How can you even _want_ to put all that stuff in your head? I'm surprised it doesn't explode."

"And I'm surprised _yours_ doesn't implode from _lack_ of knowledge, Ronald," Hermione said with disgust. "We _are_ here to learn, you know!"

From behind her, Draco grinned. "No one could ever accuse you of not wanting to learn, Granger."

Scowling at the tall blonde—who was walking just a wee bit closer to them than he would like—Ron glanced at Harry and tried to gain some support. "What do you think, mate? Don't you think all this Astronomy shite is bollocks?"

Harry'd been walking with them, but he wasn't really listening. "What?"

"See?" Ron said. "It's not even interesting enough for Harry to pay attention to our conversation."

"We're talking about last night's Astronomy class, Harry," Hermione informed their green-eyed friend. "And the papers we have to write."

Harry nodded. "Oh. Yeah. The paper actually seems interesting."

Hermione looked vindicated, but Ron's jaw dropped. "_What_?"

"Yeah. I mean, there's loads of different topics to choose from," Harry said. "Amazing how people actually believed in Aristotle's proposal of an Earth-centered universe, huh? What crap!"

"Do you think you'll do your paper on that, Harry," Hermione asked, obviously pleased that her friend was showing some interest in something other than Quidditch.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. We have two weeks to decide, but I might put my request in next week...so that I get the topic I want."

"That's smart, Harry," Hermione said with a nod. "That way someone else can't nick your first choice. I think I'll do the same...choose my topic right away, I mean." Then turning to her boyfriend, she said, "You should probably do that as well, Ronald," then she headed for the girls' table.

"_You should probably do that as well, Ronald_," the redhead mimicked when he was sure his girlfriend couldn't hear him. "She's insufferable, you know that? _Still_ a nightmare after all these years."

At Draco's side, Blaise laughed and, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief, said, "Just say the word, mate, and I'll take her off your hands."

Turning, Ron glared at his roommate, "You keep your slithering hands off her!"

Still grinning, Blaise slapped a hand on Ron's back—then looped it over his shoulder—and said, "Easy, Red, I'm just taking the piss out of you," then dragged him towards their end of the table.

"Does it disturb you at all, Potter," Draco said with a frown, "that, in less than forty-eight hours, _some of us_ are getting pretty friendly?"

Watching his best mate (Gryffindor) walk off of Blaise Zabini (Slytherin), the two of them joining Quincy Rivers (Ravenclaw) at the boys' table—and ignoring Zacharias (Hufflepuff), because they all thought he was a prat—Harry then glanced at the girls' table, where he saw Neville (Gryffindor) sitting on the closest end talking to Hannah Abbott (Hufflepuff). At the middle of the table, Hermione (Gryffindor), Daphne Greengrass (Slytherin), and Michael Corner (Ravenclaw) were animatedly engaged in a their own conversation; and at the far end Harry saw that even Pansy (Slytherin) was talking to Lila Malone (Gryffindor).

Shrugging, Harry said, "It's a good thing though, I suppose."

Draco nodded. "Yeah, but disturbing as hell. I mean, look how much I've been talking to _you_." And with that he walked off.

**XxXxXxX**

Thursday was a busy day. The Eighths had four classes, the first double Potions with Professor Slughorn, who wasted the first half of the class period making each student stand up and talk about him/herself—as if they didn't already know each other—and the second half talking about his past Slug Club dinner parties. He only touched on the subject of Potions towards the end, when he put up a syllabus—made it hover in front of the room in much the same way as the headmistress had given them their room assignments—and told everyone to spend the remaining minutes of the class copying it down.

Their second class, which came immediately after lunch, was Transfiguration with Professors Korttryne, a willowy brother and sister team who were nearly identical, except for the color of their large, almond-shaped eyes—his were brilliant sapphire blue and hers were glittering emerald green. Even dressed alike, in long, charcoal-gray robes that had shimmering silver toggle closures and trim, the brother and sister also had identical dark, perfectly straight hair, that framed their fascinatingly delicate faces and fell to well-past their waists—and skin so pale it was almost translucent. Both also spoke in such melodic tones that the students were absolutely mesmerized for the hour and half that they were there.

Immediately following Transfiguration was Charms with Professor Flitwick, who wasted no time getting started, though he pretty much only went over what they'd cover for the year, then tested them on the charms they'd been taught in the previous six years—then released them early with a hearty, "_Well done_, Eighths!"

"I'm just saying they were odd," Draco said as they walked from Charms class on the third floor to Muggle Studies on the first floor. "Didn't you feel..._odd_ when we left there?" he asked with a shiver.

This was the first chance they'd been able to talk about their new Transfiguration professors—and not because there'd been no time for it, but because they'd not been physically _able_ to discuss it with the feelings of absolute bliss that seemed to have filled them since they'd left that class. Even now, over an hour later, their bodies were still tingling with..._harmony_? But it _was_ fading.

"Well, I thought he was beautiful," Pansy very nearly purred, her head tilted slightly and her eyes dreamy.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Men aren't supposed to be beautiful, Pans."

Harry snorted. "Why not? You are."

Everyone laughed.

"Again with the telling me I'm good-looking, Potter," Draco sneered. "And in front of people this time. You must really like me."

This time Harry rolled his eyes. "It was a joke, Malfoy. I'd expect you to know the difference."

"Anyway. Did anyone else notice how when neither one of them was talking, it still seemed like they were communicating?" Pansy asked.

Harry frowned. "Do mean like Legilimency?"

"No, Potter," Pansy said with an irritated shake of her head. "More like mental telepathy."

"Isn't that what Legilimency is?" Ron asked.

"Sort of," Draco said, "but it's slightly different. Telepaths are even more rare than Legilimens. One has to be _born_ a telepath; it's not learnable. My great aunts are telepaths," Draco bragged. "Watching them can be...disconcerting."

Pansy sighed. "Are they as beautiful at Professors Korttryne?"

Draco blinked. "Umm. First of all, _all_ Malfoys are beautiful."

Several people snickered.

"But not the men?" Pansy asked teasingly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "And second, you've met my great aunts, Pansy. Amulara Malfoy-Salvatore and Adora Malfoy? Ring any bells?"

Pansy frowned, then smiled and nodded. "Oh. They _are_ beautiful."

Draco shrugged indifference—the two women were family and therefore not of interest to him, and they were old. "But I still think there's something odd about our two new professors. They looked _exactly_ the same—"

"Except for their eye color," someone added.

"...moved the same, _sounded_ the same," Draco continued. "It was eerie. I bet if I closed my eyes I'd not be able to tell their voices apart."

Hermione frowned at this. "What are you saying...that they're not human?"

"I don't know. But if they _are_, they're the most flawless specimens of human being I've ever seen in my life."

Several people sighed—even some of the boys—and everyone was nodding.

**XxXxXxX**

"Welcome to Muggle Studies, Tolerance, and Understanding the Importance of Unity. I am Paige Mitchell and I will be your professor for the term," a woman with flaming orange hair said from the front of the room. Professor Mitchell, who was of average height and quite thin, had a creamy white complexion and light brown eyes—she was extremely pretty—and, though she was wearing witches robes, they hung open to reveal rather provocative Muggle clothing beneath.

"Now, as I'm told not one of you actually requested Muggle Studies this year, I'm sure all of you are wondering why in God's name you're in my class. It's simple really. After the last seven years of dealing with Voldemort and his, pardon my language, _bullshit_, and the _many_ decades of complete and utter intolerance prior to said lunatic's fight for domination, we have _got_ to learn that this is unacceptable. So, for the next ten months, you will not only learn about the day to day life and history of Muggles, but also about being tolerant of them and others, including the other Houses within this school, and, because I know that not all of you like each other very much, you'll also learn about becoming united yourselves."

And up went Hermione's hand.

"Yes. You there," Professor Mitchell said as she pointed with a wandless hand. "Please stand up, state your name, last name first, and give us your question."

Getting to her feet, the girl said, "My name is Granger, Hermione and...isn't living in separate Houses in this school sort of part of the problem here? I mean, all of us here in this room used to belong to one of the other four Houses and, it seems to me that while we became attached to the people of our former Houses, we became rivals of the _other_ Houses...because of House points and Quidditch and such. So, because of this, we sort of became intolerant of one another."

"Hmm. Interesting. And what House were you sorted into your first year, Miss Granger?" as she picked up a clipboard and scribbled something down—with a Muggle pen.

Still standing, Hermione said, "Gryffindor."

The professor nodded. "Thank you. You may sit," she said—then to the class she ask, "What does everyone think about Miss Granger's observation? Could sorting breed division? Yay or nay?"

A couple hands went up.

"You there. Third row, first chair. Name and first House please."

"Zabini, Blaise. Slytherin. I'd have to agree with Hermione. We all came to Hogwarts and, before we ever had a chance to get to know one another, we were sorted into a House with supposedly like-minded students."

"And do you think the students in Slytherin House _aren't_ like-minded, Mr. Zabini?" the professor asked.

He shrugged. "I suppose we are, but...it might have been nice to find that out on our own, as well as have a chance of befriending others of our choice. I mean, we already came here with pre-conceived notions, biases and prejudices, because of our upbringing...why make it worse by lumping us together with those who are most like us?"

Professor Mitchell smiled. "I'm impressed, young man," she said. "And, I noticed that you called Miss Granger by her first name...which is quite familiar for a Slytherin when talking about a Muggle-born.

Hermione blushed, wondering how much the woman knew about their backgrounds.

"I know _lots of stuff_, Miss Granger," the professor said without looking at her.

Hermione's eyes widened with surprise, as did several others.

"Now," the woman went on, "we will be covering a vast amount of material this term, so I want to get started right away."

"Excuse me, Professor," Hermione said, poking her hand in the air again. "Might we...possibly have a little information about..._you_? I mean, you're new here, right?"

"Good point," the professor said with a shrug as she perched herself on the corner of her desk and smiled. "All righty! What would you like to know?"

Biting her lip, Hermione frowned. "Umm. I don't know."

To her left, Pansy snorted. "For once, Granger doesn't know something."

Ignoring Parkinson—and the laughter around the room—Hermione straightened her shoulders and said, "You're an American...I know _that_ much."

The professor smiled. "Born and raised," she said proudly—then went on. "I've lived most of my life in San Francisco, California...which, for those of you who don't know your geography, is on the west coast of the United States. I was adopted and didn't find out I was a witch until I was twenty-four. I—"

"How is that possible?" someone blurted.

"Name please," Professor Mitchell said with a nod.

"Parkinson, Pansy."

Scribbling on her paperwork again, the professor sighed and looked up. "My life has been somewhat complicated, Miss Parkinson."

"Whose hasn't been?" someone quipped.

Ignoring the commenter, the professor continued. "My birth parents felt it was impossible to keep me, so they gave me up. My mother was a witch and my father was—"

"So you're a half-blood?" Pansy interrupted with a grimace.

After eyeing the girl, Professor Mitchell pinched the bridge of her nose, then sighed. "Umm. Technically, yes, but...my father was not a Muggle." Then she frowned. "Well, originally he was, but...umm...we'll talk about this later..._maybe_. Right now I'm giving you some _minor_ background, not the whole scoop." Then, when Pansy opened her mouth again, the professor held up a hand. "Later, Miss Parkinson."

Frowning, Pansy nodded.

"So. Where was I? Oh yes. So, I was adopted, but when I was about your age my adoptive parents were killed in a car accident. I was in the car too, but I survived. I finished high school shortly afterward, then went to college...then learned that I had three half sisters, one of which was killed before I could properly meet them."

"Oh! That's awful," Hermione said.

The professor shrugged. "That's just life, Miss Granger. While it grieves me that I couldn't get to know my sister, I never knew her, so I can't very well miss her all that much, now can I?"

Frowning, Hermione said, "I suppose."

"I have, however, met both my birth parents, have two _living_ sisters, two brothers-in-law, two nephews, three nieces...and I'm married with three children of my own."

Hermione—along with several others—smiled at the more pleasant information.

"Now, enough about me," the professor said as she hopped off her desk. "Let's get started here." Then, reaching across her desk, she lifted a wand from a Muggle pencil holder and glared at it as she turned her back on her students and walked behind the desk. Then, with a sigh and a flick of said wand, she magicked a stack of papers to lift off her desk and float down the aisles.

Watching as the papers passed themselves out—much like Professor Umbridge's silly textbooks did in their fifth year—the students stared at what settled on their desks in front of them.

"These will give you a heads-up about what is to come," Professor Mitchell said. "This subject will have three separate, though related, topics: Muggle Studies, Tolerance, and Unity. I've divided Muggle Studies into three sections: History, Culture and Psychology; Technology; and Life Without Magic...and each section will involve a field trip, two of them into Muggle London."

At this everyone perked up slightly and glanced around.

"_Muggle London_? Whatever for?"

The professor looked at the student who spoke and frowned. "Hands please."

The boy's hand immediately went up, but Professor Mitchell shook her head.

"I already know your question, young man. But I'll have your name and previous House please."

"Malfoy, Draco. Slytherin."

Nodding, she said, "The reason, Mr. Malfoy, is so that you can _learn_ about Muggles...and their culture. It's much easier to become tolerant of things you know and understand." Then to the class she said, "The two trips to Muggle London will help with your knowledge of Muggles and their lives, and help promote tolerance of them. And the third field trip will combine both Muggle Studies and Unity.

"Now. For the second section...Tolerance...we will have a series of lessons and activities. Each month will consist of a topic. For example, the month of September will be titled, 'What's Fair?' But we'll talk about that next time. Any questions thus far?"

Though there were scattered frowns, all twenty students shook their heads.

"Good. So, the section on Unity will be similar to that of Tolerance, in that we'll have lessons and activities meant to bring you all together as a unified group. I'm quite hoping this part will be fun," Professor Mitchell said with a smile. "There'll be some work as well...tasks you'll have to pass, but we'll play some games and basically get to know one another. It should be great!"

**XxXxXxX**

"Don't forget!" Professor Mitchell called out loudly as they were packing up to leave. "From now on I want you to come to class with Muggle clothing under your robes."

"Looks like I need that trip to Muggle London now," Draco grumbled with disgust as he walked out of class.

Pansy laughed. "Well, since shopping's one of your favorite pastimes, Draco, it shouldn't tax you overly much."

Glancing down at her, Draco scowled. "And I suppose _you_ have something to wear to this bloody class?"

Pansy frowned. "Well no actually, but...I'll just owl Mother. I'm sure she can have something sent by next Tuesday."

Draco snorted. "Well, _mine_ won't be able to," he said, thinking about his mother stuck at the manor on house arrest—for the next three _years_. "And I doubt I could find anything at Hogsmeade even if it _was_ a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Just ask your roommate," Pansy suggested with a smirk. "I'm sure Potter will have _something_ you can borrow," she said—then snickered at Draco's appalled look. "Though, anything of Potter's is likely to be large enough to fit a hippogriff. Where does that boy shop?" she said with obvious disgust.

Scowling, Draco said, "You can't be serious, Pansy. You expect me to...wear something that doesn't belong to me?"

Shrugging, Pansy glanced around and, catching sight of The-Boy-Who-Lived a short distance down the hall—he was walking with his friends—she called out, "Hey, Potter!"

Turning, Harry frowned. "What do you want, Parkinson?"

"Can Draco borrow something to wear for Professor Mitchell's class next Tuesday? Pretty please?" she added, batting her eyelashes for good measure.

From right beside Harry, Hermione rolled her eyes, but everyone seemed to be waiting for Harry's answer—which he didn't give right away. After a few moments though, he shrugged. "We're...about the same size...I suppose I can loan him _something_."

"See, Draco?" Pansy said after slapping her friend's chest with the back of her hand. "No need to go to Muggle London!" Then grabbing Millicent by her robes, the two girls walked off, laughing hysterically as they went.

"Fabulous!" Draco growled. "I'm reduced to _borrowing_!"


	11. More Conversations

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

saribel192 (13 June, 2011) – I'm wondering, is the class going to run into the Dursleys? 'Cause that would make some pretty awesome drama. And is Paige Mitchell from Charmed (great show)? Oh, and excellent chapter. ***~*~*~* Thank you, thank you...for reviewing and for your kind words! *grin* Paige Mitchell is **_**indeed**_** Paige Halliwell (adopted Matthews) and I'm thrilled to pieces that someone knew. To me it was obvious, but I suppose one would have to be a Charmed fan to know this. Hehe. I very MUCH loved that show and miss it greatly...as I do with all the shows "they" cancel without my personal private permission. *snicker* As for the Eighths running into the Dursleys...IDK if I should tell you, but...well...all I'll say is that...er...**_**could be**_**. Wait! I've already offered to email out copies of the family tree for, "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," which I've enhanced, altered, and added to...to suit both my Harry Potter stories.**

Joanna23 (14 June, 2011) – The last part reminded me of my own classmates, so to speak. ***~*~*~* The last part, as in talking about borrowing clothing...and being disgusted by it? :p Thanks for reading, Luisa (one of my favorite von Trapp names, BTW (Louisa)...not boring at all).**

**Author's Note**

Okay...so...I finished writing chapter fifteen, so you get **chapter eleven**! *grin*

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – SilverFoxQueen (love your Jack Sparrow quote...that character has such great lines!), Joanna23, sofieke24 (I am delighted that I'm your first non-Dutch "favorite"), Tempete Sanguine, Greiver Dhark, RandomEnigma, Ydtulsa, DarkLordOfUltimateChaos...and...if I've missed anyone, I am truly sorry (send me a PM, or...harass me through "review" and I'll definitely remember to include you in my thanks).

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><p><strong>Posted:<strong> 20 June, 2011

**Word Count: **2,042

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><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Eleven**

"**More Conversations"**

Friday was a much easier day than Thursday, in that the Eighths only had two classes; Herbology again, which was first thing in the morning just like it had been on Wednesday—and without a dangerous close-call with Professor Sprout's Giant flesh-eating Snapdragon—and one of two "elective" classes—again, not elective, as they were being forced to take either Arithmancy or Divination, whether they wanted to or not. Half the Eighths—Hannah, Mandy, Michael, Justin, Hermione, Daphne, Morag, Ernie, Quincy, and Blaise—headed off to Arithmancy, while the rest were split—unevenly—between Professor Trelawney and Firenze's Divination classes. And all three were joined by the seventh-year students, bringing each class attendance up to twenty.

In Arithmancy, Hermione sat down next to her roommate and started emptying her bookbag. "I sure hope he's as good as Professor Vector," she said with a nod toward the tall man with wild graying hair at the front of the room. "I missed her during sixth year."

Daphne nodded. "So did I," she said as she set her quill down, unstoppered her ink, then unrolled some parchment. "I've heard of Professor Wenlock though. I think he's related to _Bridget_ Wenlock...the famous Arithmancer who discovered the magical properties of the number seven back in the thirteenth century. He's supposed to be good."

"_Thank Merlin_! That last bloke was bloody _awful_," Hermione mumbled. "Almost makes me grateful I skipped seventh year to hunt down Horcruxes with Harry and Ron. If I had to sit through another year of _that_ man," she went on, "I might have had to _Crucio_ myself!"

Daphne snickered. "You sure have a way with words, Granger," she said, her blue eyes incredulous. "I'm not sure I'd survive the Cruciatous Curse."

Hermione snorted. "Pfft! _Surviving_ it isn't a problem...it's the forgetting that is," she finished in a whisper.

At this, Daphne glanced at her roommate. "Experienced that, have you?"

Shuddering, Hermione nodded. "Trust me, it's no walk in the park."

"Never assumed it would be." Then frowning, Daphne ran a hand over the parchment she'd unrolled and pretended to find issue with a crease in the corner—then looked at her neighbor again. "How can you even joke about...Crucioing yourself after having experienced it?"

Hermione shrugged. "I guess it's so I don't become so furious that I explode."

"Who?" the blonde asked after several minutes of silence.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who...umm...who did it to you?" Daphne asked, then blushed. She couldn't believe she was even asking. She knew it was rude—to ask about something so personal and horrific—but...she truly wanted to get to know and understand Hermione Granger. And, she couldn't seem to be able to stop herself from asking.

Hermione closed her eyes, then opened them and whispered, "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Draco's _aunt_?" Daphne gasped—then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Her brown eyes filling with the pain of remembering, Hermione nodded.

"Does Draco know?"

With a nod, her voice barely above a whisper, Hermione said, "He...he was there."

"And he did nothing?" the blonde asked incredulously.

Hermione shrugged. "How could he? His aunt was completely deranged. She'd have killed us both had he spoken a word against her."

"Still." Frowning, Daphne looked down at the parchment on her desk and tried to understand the insanity the wizarding world had only recently narrowly escaped—thanks to Harry Potter and people like him. People like Hermione Granger.

"She did _this_ too," Hermione said as she pushed her left sleeve up and twisted her arm so that Daphne could see the scar that read, _Mudblood_, on her forearm.

Her eyes bulging when she saw the angry red mark on her roommate's arm, Daphne said, "That's disgusting! Why haven't you had that healed?"

Hermione shrugged. "At first there were too many things to do. You know...funerals, speeches...stuff like that. And then...well, I guess I just...I don't know. It's part of me now and..." She shrugged again. "I'm not ashamed of being Muggleborn," she said as she pulled her sleeve back down and looked away.

"It doesn't say _Muggleborn_, Hermione. Calling someone a Mudblood is...a _horrible_ insult."

"I know that."

"It was an attempt to dehumanize you," Daphne went on—then tentatively placed her hand on Hermione's right arm. "I want you to have it healed."

Hermione's only response was to frown and bite her lip.

"_Please_, Hermione. Won't you please consider seeing a Healer about it?" the blue-eyed young woman begged.

Looking at her pleading roommate, Hermione sighed and nodded, then said, "I'll consider it."

At this, Daphne pursed her lips, then removed her hand; she knew that it was as far as she could push the ex-Gryffindor—for now.

"Anyway...I have to admit I was worried when Professor Vector didn't return for our sixth year," Hermione said, quickly going back to their original topic of conversation. "I wonder what happened to her."

Biting her lip, Daphne shrugged.

"I know for a fact that she was fine after the war; I ran into her at Gringotts," Hermione continued.

"Uh-ha."

"Though, she did act rather odd the day I saw her," Hermione went on. "Kept glancing over her shoulder like she didn't want me to see something...or someone."

"Pfft! I'll bet."

This stopped Hermione's rant—of sorts. "You know something."

Daphne just stared at her, her expression blank.

Hermione frowned. "What aren't you telling me?"

Her brow pinched together, Daphne glanced away.

"Daphne!"

Quickly, Daphne looked back at her roommate. And then she broke—she seemed to be losing her Slytherin touch. "Oh, all right!" she burst. Then glancing around, Daphne leaned in and whispered, "That's because she got herself knocked up."

Hermione's eyes widened. "_Really_?"

Daphne nodded.

"How do you know?"

"Because my mother ran into her at St. Mungo's. Said she was as big as a house."

"When was this?"

Frowning, Daphne said, "Late January of '97, I think. My mother's cousin had had an accident around then and was in the hospital for a few weeks."

"Hmm. Well, _that's_ interesting."

Daphne grinned. "I didn't know you were so _interested_ in gossip, Granger."

"I'm not usually, but...it isn't gossip if it's true, is it?" Hermione asked.

Still grinning, the blonde shrugged. "I suppose not."

**XxXxXxX**

In Divination, the rest of the Eighths were split up, three—Lavender, Millicent, and Neville—went up to Trelawney's classroom in the tower, and the rest went to Classroom Eleven on the first floor for Firenze's Divination class. Like Arithmancy, Divination was mixed with the seventh-years and was apparently assigned alphabetically, dividing them between Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

"You really should remove the Wrackspurts from your ears, Draco," Luna said after tapping the young man on the shoulder.

Draco just stared at her.

"Centaurs don't like them," she explained as she adjusted her Spectrespecs, and then turned toward Harry. "You too, Harry. Like usual, your ears are full of them."

Harry nodded. "All right, Luna," he said, "I will."

Smiling, Luna turned and bounced over to where she'd set down her rucksack.

"What the hell's a Wrackspurt?" Draco hissed from his seat adjacent to Harry's.

Harry shook his head. "No idea."

"They're invisible creatures that float around your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," Ginny piped in, in a _very_ Luna-like tone, as she came up beside Harry.

Harry glanced Luna Lovegood, who wasn't too far away from him, and stifled a laugh—because the strange blonde was actually a good friend of theirs—then smiled at Ginny. "You're good. Sounded almost just like her."

Smiling back, Ginny leaned into Harry, kissed him on the cheek, and said, "Hi you."

"Hi."

Then she glanced at the young man staring at them. "Malfoy," she said in greeting.

"Weaslette."

Glaring at him, Ginny contemplated hexing him, but decided against it—since it was the first week of school. "I'm gonna be nice _this_ time, Malfoy, but you better watch it."

Pretending to shiver in fear, Draco said, "Oooo. You're scary, Weasley."

Ginny smirked—because he'd switched from 'Weaslette' to her actual last name—then looked at Harry and said, "I wanted to talk to you..._alone_." Her gaze went to Malfoy again—who was still watching them—her eyes narrowing to let him know his attention wasn't wanted. Huffing, the blonde turned away.

"I think we have a few minutes before Firenze gets here," Harry said. "Do you wanna to go out in the hall?"

Biting her lip, Ginny frowned. "Where's Ron?"

"He should be here any second...he walked Hermione to Arithmancy."

At this Draco snorted, which caused both Harry and Ginny to look over at him—he was watching again. Frowning, Ginny cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned down to whisper into Harry's ear. "Someone asked me out...on a date," she clarified. "But...I wanted to talk to you before I accepted or declined."

Harry's brow raised. "That was quick."

Blushing, Ginny shrugged and glanced away, her eyes focusing on something—nothing really—on the wall over Harry's head, so that she didn't have to look directly at him. "I know. I'm sorry."

Harry studied her and contemplated the situation. "I guess it isn't really," he decided, changing his mind because they hadn't _really_ been together since before Bill and Fleur's wedding the year before—except for a few kisses here and there. And he didn't want her to feel guilty. "Well," he finally said, turning his body and lowering his voice so that Malfoy couldn't hear him, "do you want to go...on the date?"

"I...I don't know, Harry," she said. "I don't want to hurt you or anything, but...I think I do."

"Then you should go."

"I _should_?"

Harry nodded. "Definitely."

Ginny shifted her weight from one foot to the other and bit her lip again.

"Look, Ginny, we talked about this and...we agreed, right?"

She nodded.

"So, you're not doing anything wrong."

"Okay," she said, obviously still not sure.

"Thanks for...coming to me first though," Harry said. "I appreciate it."

Smiling grimly, Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and squeezed him. "Thanks for...well...being here for me," she whispered.

"I'll always be here for you," Harry promised, hugging her back.

"I know you will, Harry," Ginny responded. "That's why this is so...weird."

"Try not to think of it that way. We both just need...time."

Taking a step back from Harry, Ginny smiled down at him. "You're right, of course, but..." She shrugged—then frowned when the door opened and her brother entered the room. "Oh shite! Don't tell Ron, okay?"

Harry laughed. "He's gonna find out sooner or later, Gin."

"Maybe not. We could try to get through the year without him knowing and...see what happens."

Laughing again—because she looked so hopeful—Harry shook his head. "He's not _that_ thick, Gin."

Glancing at her brother, who'd just plopped down in his seat, Ginny snorted when he started dumping out the contents of his bag. "I'm not so sure about that. Looks like he's forgotten the required text...and on the first day too." She rolled her eyes. "You were saying?"

"He _will_ figure it out, Ginny. Certainly Hermione will."

"I know, but..._please_, not yet," she begged.

Shrugging, Harry said, "Whatever...but I won't lie to him if he asks me outright."

Grinning, Ginny placed a kiss on Harry's cheek, then sauntered to her seat in the back of the room and plopped down beside her brother.

"What the heck was _that_ about?" Draco hissed back from his seat.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't wanna to know."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, Potter," Draco pushed.

"Not now, Malfoy," Harry said—then frowned when Pansy Parkinson jerked her chair out and flopped down beside him.

"What the bloody hell is with them and their alphabetical order this year?" she growled. "Am I going to be stuck sitting next to _you_ in every class?"

"Nice to see you too, Parkinson," Harry said, his eyes going back to Malfoy, because the blonde had thrown a wadded up piece of parchment at him.

"I want to know Weaslette's secret?" Draco mouthed.

Harry shook his head.

"I'll get it out of you, Potter."

Rolling his eyes, Harry pointed at the front of the room—Firenze had just entered.

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><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Okay...so...in the beginning of this chapter I wrote, "And all three were joined by the seventh-year students, bringing each class attendance up to twenty" (last sentence, first paragraph). This is _not_ a mistake. Yes, I know Colin Creevey died in the Battle of Hogwarts...and yes, he _is_ dead in my story. So, who's that twentieth student, you ask? (not that you care) Well...it's Professor Mitchell...because she didn't grow up learning magic in this universe. :p


	12. Just a Little Spying

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

random11121992 (20 June, 2011) – Pretty decent chapter. SO Ginny's taking the step. I'm curious how long into this story, if ever, that it'll be Harry/Ginny, or are you planning on just keeping them seeing other people? ***~*~*~* First...thanks for reading and reviewing. *grin* Second...while my lengthy author's notes say that this story is epilogue compliant (I do believe I said that), this is NOT a Harry/Ginny fic...at all. I'm very much hoping I can find a way to get Harry and Draco into bed together (I think my A.N.s about this were **_**quite**_** clear), but IDK if I can do it, because I've never written slash before. So anyway...I repeat...don't hold your breath for Harry/Ginny...you are NOT going to get any of that here...and you should stop reading now if that's what you're looking for. Just looked at your profile, Javed...you best check out now, I think...but thanks for reading...and again, thanks for reviewing. Cheers!**

JL (21 June, 2011) – What a nice shock they'll be getting. ***~*~*~* Err...not sure I get your comment. Do you mean about Harry and Ginny not being together?**

**Author's Note**

Okay...so...there's a bit in this chapter with the first-years...sorry to those of you who don't like that...non-canon characters, I mean. =/ Still, hope you enjoy!

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – random11121992 (though I imagine you won't continue reading this), Twilight Dusk, and fireiceair1989.

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><p><strong>Posted: <strong>28 June, 2011

**Word Count: **3,360

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><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Twelve**

"**Just a Little Spying"**

After wrestling the second Bludger back into the trunk after Quidditch practice on Saturday, Harry started for the changing rooms—only to be stopped by Ginny. Touching down a few feet away, the red-head smiled. Reaching into the trunk, she grabbed the Quaffle and tossed it up to one of her Chasers.

"I saw you guys sitting up there watching. Spying on our practice, Gin?" Harry asked.

"Of course," she replied with a wide grin as she leaned on her broom. "Gryffindor's gonna kick your arse!"

Chuckling, Harry said, "We'll see."

She narrowed her pretty brown eyes and cocked her head. "Pretty confident, yeah?"

Harry shrugged. "We're doing all right. How about you?" he asked, his eyes going to Richie Coote who'd just fired the Quaffle at Gryffindor's new Keeper, Vicky Frosbisher—who did well fending it off.

Ginny shrugged. "Only two new players. But, no extras." With that she frowned. "Not much interest in playing this year."

"I'm sure it'll pick up," Harry said, wondering why there weren't more eager Gryffindors wanting to play.

"I hope so...because, if someone gets hurt, _Gryffindor_ won't have a team."

Frowning, Harry realized she was worried about his ex-Slytherins playing dirty. "I can't speak for the Slytherin team, Gin, but I promise you that _my_ team will play clean."

"Even Malfoy?"

"Even Malfoy," he promised.

She looked at him skeptically, then shrugged.

"And since when are Gryffindors afraid of things getting a little dirty?"

"We're _not_!" she denied, her arms folding over her chest in a huff. "Afraid, that is. It's just...you're all older than us and...your team already looks _really_ good."

Harry tried not to smile—because what she said was true and he didn't want to rub it in. "I'm sure Gryffindor will do fine."

"Of course we will," Ginny said confidently. "Like I said, we're gonna kick your arse!"

Harry laughed. "We'll see," he repeated as he started away again. But after a few steps he turned and looked back at his red-haired ex-girlfriend. "Hey...er...how was your date?"

Frowning, Ginny turned from the Quidditch trunk to look at Harry. "We...umm...haven't gone out yet, Harry."

"Oh." He'd assumed she'd mentioned the date yesterday because whoever it was that wanted to take her out had wanted it to be right away. He should have known better—Ginny would expect anyone she went out with to give proper notice, not ask the day of the date.

"It'll be the first Hogsmeade weekend," she elaborated—then blushed.

Harry nodded. "Right." That made sense. And then he decided he'd not go to Hogsmeade that weekend. "Well...ahh...I'll see you later, Ginny," he said as he turned away from her.

"Harry!" she called out, then waited for him to look at her. "Are you...angry?"

"No, Gin...I'm fine," he said with a smile. And he wasn't...upset. But it _was_ a little awkward. Then giving her a slight smile and a little wave, Harry walked off.

**XxXxXxX**

By the time Harry got to the changing room it was empty, so he quickly showered and dressed, then headed back up to the castle—where he was accosted by a gaggle of first-years who wanted to hear his firsthand account of the previous year's battle. Six of the students were Gryffindor, but there were several from the other three Houses as well—including both his and Malfoy's lookalikes.

"What was it like?" Piper Salvatore asked, her gray eyes wide and curious.

"What do you _think_ it was like, _stupid_!" her twin sister sneered in a way that reminded Harry very much of Draco Malfoy—Pitra Salvatore clearly hadn't forgiven her sister for getting sorted into a different House and was publicly taking it out on her twin.

The first-year Ravenclaw girl glanced at her Slytherin sister—and her new snake friends—and rolled her eyes. "It was _only_ a question, _dear_ sister, and...I'd not question the brains of a Ravenclaw, if I were you."

A few kids snickered—including one of Pitra's housemates. "She's got you there," the boy said.

"Shut it, Sloper!" Pitra snarled, her gray eyes flashing furiously. "Who asked you?"

The boy, Jared Sloper—who'd been sorted in to Slytherin though most of his relatives had been in Gryffindor—smirked, then opened his mouth to answer the blonde, very Malfoy-looking, girl, but he was cut off by Harry's look-alike.

"_No one_ asked, cousin," said Merak Le Noire. "But you're putting yourself out there with the name-calling, aren't you?"

Pitra Salvatore threw a scathing look at the boy, but didn't have a chance to retort, because Harry stepped into the crowd.

"Hey now," he said calmly. "Let's not fight." Standing in the middle of what could potentially become a scene with hexes being thrown about, Harry smiled at the younger children—thinking they all looked _really_ small. He was also curious about the fact that kids from all four Houses were clustered in one place—which was definitely _not_ something that would have been seen in years past—and he wondered about Merak Le Noire calling Pitra Salvatore 'cousin,' thinking it odd because, if they were _cousins_, then why didn't Malfoy seem to know the Le Noire kid?

Glancing up at Harry, Pitra narrowed her eyes—which again very much reminded him of Malfoy—sighed, then grabbed her friend by the arm and sauntered off.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry looked down at the expectant-looking group of children surrounding him and smiled.

"What _was_ it like, Mr. Potter?" Sebastian Diggory asked quietly.

"Oh. Ahh. Well. Umm. I don't really feel much like talking about that today," Harry told Cedric Diggory's little brother—much to the disappointment of all the first-years. "Sorry."

"_Aww_, Mr. Potter, _please_—"

"Maybe some other time, okay?" he cut in quickly. "But only _if_ you stop calling me Mr. Potter."

With wide grins, all the first-years nodded and chorused, "All right...Harry," in unison.

"I've got to get up to my common room now," Harry went on, edging away, then waving. "See you guys around."

"Bye, Harry," came the reply of fifteen, several waving frantically.

**XxXxXxX**

Walking around a corner and into a familiar outside corridor, Harry hurried away—or tried to. Instead, he was stopped by the voice of Draco Malfoy.

"Bet you loved _that_, Potter!" the young man sneered as he hopped deftly from the low wall he'd been sitting on. "Can't even get into the castle without your _adoring_ fans fluttering around you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like that, Malfoy."

"Oh, Mr. Potter,_ what was it like_?" Malfoy mimicked sarcastically, now standing face-to-face with Harry. "_Oh _please_, tell us your story_," he went on. Then, in a more serious tone, though he was anything but, he said, "Can I have your autograph, Potter?"

"Don't be such a prat," Harry said. "What's your problem anyway? Did we not just have a fairly decently Quidditch practice?"

Nodding his platinum head, Draco smirked. "Yeah. I suppose."

"Then why do you have to ruin it?" Harry snapped as he pushed himself past his roommate and started inside.

Draco watched Harry go for only a few seconds, then he turned and followed, quickening his step to catch up. "Saw that the Weaslette cornered you on the pitch. Persistent little bint, isn't she?"

Harry frowned. "No, she didn't...corner me, that is," he denied. "And not that it's any of your business, but... Hey wait!" Harry stopped walking and faced the blonde. "What the bloody hell are you doing watching Ginny?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Malfoy didn't say anything; he just continued to smirk.

"You stay away from Ginny!" Harry ordered.

"As if _I'd_ go after your little—"

"On second thought," Harry said with a chuckle, "you go right on ahead and try." Still laughing, Harry started down the hallway again.

Ignoring Harry's challenge, Draco folded his arms over his chest and glared. "I just want to know what's going on between you and the little female weasel. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, actually," Harry said with a shrug, "but why do you care?"

Frowning, Draco lifted his shoulders—quite like Harry had—then rolled his eyes and said, "I don't _care_, Potter, I just...want to know."

"Well, contrary to what you might believe, Malfoy, even _you_ can't have everything you want. So...bugger off!"

As the dark-haired young man turned his back, Draco's gray eyes flashed with frustration. "I _will_ get it out of you, Potter," he insisted, once again hurrying to stay at Harry's side. "Just you wait."

"Good luck with that," Harry said, still laughing—and wondering why, every time he turned around, Malfoy was right there. He didn't really care what Malfoy was up to really—because so much had changed since the previous year and he'd promised himself that he was done with that...worrying about Malfoy's intentions—but he found humor in the fact that the blonde seemed to be so curious about his and Ginny's relationship all of a sudden; it was just strange, since they'd hated one another for years.

"I don't _need_ luck, Potter...eventually _everyone_ tells me what I want to know."

Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy's arrogance—and Draco said, "They _do_."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

Draco smirked. "Just you wait and see."

"Well, you're not gonna get jack from me, Malfoy, so...run along," Harry said as he wagged his hand in a go-away motion.

But Draco didn't move to leave. Instead he just continued to walk alongside his roommate, grinning as if Harry had said something humorous.

Glancing at the blond, Harry sighed. "Don't you have something you could be doing...instead of harassing me?"

Draco shrugged. "Not really."

"Some homework, perhaps?"

Draco shook his head. "Unlike _some_ people, I finish everything the day it's assigned."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know, if you keep doing that...with your eyes," Draco said as he pointed right in Harry's face, "they might get stuck up inside your head. I mean, I know you're already half blind, but you don't want to make it worse, do you?"

At this Harry laughed. "What are we, _twelve_?"

Draco grinned. "We're definitely _not_ twelve...thank Merlin," he said, his lips quirking up into another smirk as he eyed the boy walking beside him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That was a tough year."

Draco nodded.

"You were _such an arse_!"

Shrugging, Draco said, "I was twelve, what did you expect? And, for your information..._so_ were you!"

"Maybe," Harry admitted, if somewhat reluctantly.

Draco snorted. "Of course, _some of us_ have changed."

"Which some?" Harry asked. "Because, I _know_ you're not talking about yourself."

"Of course I'm talking about myself, you twat! Because, _you've_ certainly not grown and matured."

"Yes, I can _see_ the difference in you," Harry said sarcastically. "_So_ much more mature than second year."

"Like _you're_ any different, Potter."

Harry laughed. "I guess we've both changed some, huh?"

Draco shrugged. "A bit."

"You know...I'm by no means perfect," Harry said, remembering the blonde boy's words on their first day of classes.

"Wow, the _great_ Harry Potter admitting to imperfection! Never thought I'd see the day."

Rolling his eyes again, Harry said, "Oh, give it a rest, Malfoy! I've done plenty of...naughty things."

"Naughty, huh?" Draco teased—then laughed when Harry glared at him. "Okay. So tell me something you've done...that I don't already know about."

Harry frowned for a second, then smiled mischievously. "Sneaked into the Slytherin common room our second year," he boasted. "And I _know_ you don't know that."

Draco's eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks, staring at his roommate. "And how'd you do that?"

Laughing, Harry said, "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" Then he turned and walked off—still laughing.

**XxXxXxX**

After watching Potter walk away from him—still cackling like a banshee—Draco was even more determined to find out what in Merlin's name was going on between his dark-haired arch nemesis and the weasel's sister—because clearly, _something_ was up and Draco hated not knowing. Turning, he immediately went back out to the pitch to watch Gryffindor's practice.

Once there, Draco looked about. Since it was fairly late in the day, not too many others were there. Several Gryffindors sat observing their House team—as well as a few from the other Houses—but mostly the stands were empty. It looked like a normal practice.

Moving as unobtrusively as possible, Draco found himself a place to sit and just watched. It was immediately apparent that the Weaslette was the captain, because she was busy flying after the other players, shouting instructions, correcting mistakes, demonstrating when necessary, and giving compliments where deserved. As he watched her fly, Draco had to admit the girl was good. _Better than_ good! _First-rate even_, he thought as he watched her zip by, right on one of her Chaser's heels. She flew as effortlessly as a trained professional, her technique flawless, making Draco realize that he'd always been so caught up with Potter to appreciate what the rest of the Gryffindor team was doing.

And then the little red-head shifted gears and was across the pitch in a blink. Clearly she'd seen something she didn't like and immediately put an end to it. As she was too far away, Draco couldn't hear her words, but the boy, a Beater, who was the object of her wrath, managed to look sufficiently chagrined. This made Draco smile. He knew the little Weaslette was tough—he'd seen her fight on several occasions—but he'd not expected her to be so hard on her own House. This gave him something to think about.

After an hour of just sitting there though—receiving no clues about what was going on between Potter and the girl—Draco sighed and got up. He'd only just started for the stairs when a shadow passed over him. Looking up, he was surprised to see Ginny Weasley hovering a short distance in front of him.

"_Spying_, Malfoy?" she asked as she reached up and pushed her sweat-soaked fringe from her forehead.

Draco shrugged. "Just checking out the competition, Weasley, you know how it is," he said, making it clear that he'd seen her team watching their earlier practice. "Have a problem with that, do you?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "I suppose not...not with the watching, anyway. I do, however, have a problem with you!"

"How's that?"

"Oh. I don't know. Maybe it's all the horrible things you and your family did during the war," she almost growled.

Draco just glared at her. He knew how much people hated him for his family's part in the war—a large part of him _hated_ his parents for subjecting him to their views—but there was nothing he could do about those events now. All he could do was move on. Not that that was easy when everyone continued to hate him and blame him for everything.

"But it started with how your spoilt arse treated all of us for _years_," she said, her glare as intense as his. "Tell me something, do you still think you're better than us?"

Draco frowned. He'd been raised to look down on those who didn't have as much as he—and the Weasleys _definitely_ had less—so yes, he _was_ better than them. Better off, anyway—financially speaking. Of course, they apparently had a love and happiness that he'd never experienced. And a sense of togetherness. He had his mother and father. Sort of. But no one else—not really. The Weasleys, on the other hand, had so many to turn to. Even though they'd lost one of their own—and several friends—during the war, they'd bounced back and were as tough as ever. It made him think about his evil Aunt Bellatrix and how poorly his mother was getting on without her crazy sister. It was disgusting, really—the way his parents were floundering at the Manor. So...un-Malfoy-like. He'd hated ever second of his summer at home. Not that he was enjoying being back at Hogwarts either. Most treated him as if he had a disease, so he hated it here too—but _anything_ was better than the Wizengemott's forced house-arrest, he thought as he fingered the currently remodified detention bracelet around his wrist.

"You really haven't changed a bit, have you, Malfoy?" Ginny said with a shake of her head.

"I can't say whether I've changed or not, _Weasley_, or whether or not I even _want to_, but...not really any of _your_ business, though, is it?"

"Well, that's where I beg to differ," Ginny said as she continued to hover. "As you're currently rooming with Harry, and sharing a House with my brother and friends, I think it's _very much_ my business."

"Is that so?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes. And if you do _one thing_ to hurt any of them I'll—"

"Making threats already, Weasley?" Draco said with a roll of his eyes. "Look. I'm not about to do anything to endanger either myself or any one of my housemates...and that includes your precious Potter."

Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"I promise."

"Like one of your _promises_ means anything to me, Malfoy."

Huffing out an exasperated breath, Draco glared up at the girl. "Well, I don't owe you anything else, so...piss off, Weaslette!" he said, then turned and started away.

Her eyes flashing furiously, Ginny quickly leaned forward and circled around the blonde, then touched down to stand in front of him. Quite a few inches shorter than him, she had to look up, but it didn't bother her in the least. "I told you not to call me that, _Ferret_!"

"Yeah. Well, _I_ don't take orders from _you_!" Draco ground out as he looked down into the girl's angry face. It was red with rage, but...for the first time he saw what Potter saw in the girl—she was actually quite pretty. And she was feisty, which was something he liked in a person.

"Look, _Weasley_," he said after several seconds of trying to stare her down. "I really don't want to fight with you or anyone else."

That caused Ginny's forehead to wrinkle with confusion.

"Is that so?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I really just want to get through this year. And then I'll disappear."

"_Forever_?" Ginny asked hopefully.

Draco snorted. "I can't guarantee forever."

"Because I could celebrate _forever_," she went on.

Try as he might, Draco wasn't able to suppress his chuckle. "Like I said, can't promise forever."

"Hmph! But you do _promise_ not to harm Harry or Ron or Hermione...or any one of my other friends?"

Using his index finger, Draco drew an "X" over his heart.

Well, I'm not saying I believe you, but..." She let her words trail off as she moved to get back on her broom. "Harry tells me you're not going to play dirty."

"Yeah. That's what Potter told me too," Draco said with a smirk.

Ginny's eyes narrowed again. "So, that's not true then?"

"Guess you'll have to wait and see," he taunted.

"Gryffindor is _so_ going to kick your arse, Malfoy!" Ginny challenged.

"Is that so?"

Ginny nodded vigorously.

"We'll see about that, Weasley."

Grimacing, Ginny shook her head. "I changed my mind. Call me Weaslette."

Draco laughed. "What brought that on?"

"I'm _so_ tired of being called by my last name...there are _far_ too many us!"

Draco snorted. "Haven't I been saying that for _years_? You people reproduce like rabbits." Part of him expected the Weaslette to haul off and clock him—or hex him, though she probably didn't have her wand on her at the moment—but he was pleasantly surprised to hear laughing instead.

"Just remember, Malfoy, we _are_ related," she choked out between laughs. "Something like, third cousins once removed...or so my mother tells me."

"Yes. Mother might have mentioned that at some point," Draco said, "but _we_ pretend it's not true."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "One would think your family could use all the friends and family it can get."

"Can we not go there?" said the blonde.

"Right. Well, I'll see you, Malfoy," she said, then kicked herself up into the air and took off.


	13. Not Just Another Evening in the CR

**Author's Note**

Sorry it's taken so long to put this up...I have no excuse really, except that I've become engrossed in _Queer as Folk_ and I've been watching it CONSTANTLY! *sigh*

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

ellesra (28 June, 2011) – Woooo, friendly teasing! :D I like that ^^ Wellwell, will look forward to an update. :) ***~*~*~* Thanks, Sara...and yes, friendly teasing is good. *grin* This is moving far slower than I'd wished, but then...things usually do with me. I'm quite sluggish with keeping time moving in my stories...this is chapter thirteen and it's been all of five days (started on Monday, August 1****st**** and we're only on Saturday, September 5****th****)...so it's taken me two-ish months to post five friggin' days. Sheesh! That's **_**awful**_**! Anyway...thanks for reading and continuing to comment. =)**

cherry4812 (29 June, 2011) – There were some very minor grammatical errors but I'm so use to that (and unfortunately much worse) on here. I like your writing style overall. ***~*~*~* Well SHITE! Please feel free to point that crap out, because I hate errors of any kind. *sigh***

cherry4812 (29 June, 2011) – I really like that you're including this Muggle Studies professor. I'm intrigued by her already. I want to know her back-story, how she can read minds, and how she'll fit in with the other characters. You know how you just immediately connect with a character you read? That doesn't happen everyday for me so... points for you for creating her? Lol. ***~*~*~* Hmm. Actually...Professor Mitchell can't read minds...she's just read her students' files. LOL. But she is from another story...though I have her out of her timeline. Someone else guessed it...we'll see if you can (or you can just go read my reviews. I'm a pain in the ass, huh? If you really want to know, I'll tell you, but...COOL that I've intrigued you! *grin***

cherry4812 (29 June, 2011) – I'm also curious about the rating. I generally only search for stories that are M because I like the possibility of fluffier things in stories but so often I get pure smut. Which is fine, I enjoy it, but I must say that this story is like a refreshing cup of peaches after so many heavy meals. Still, I'm curious as to whether it will get a little fluffy or just how much. Now that I'm thinking about it I don't think I want an answer. I hate spoilers. ***~*~*~* Hmm. You're getting an answer anyway, because, should you be offended by possible slash (Harry/Draco), then you should know to stop reading now. The M rating is for possible sex later (maybe)...and profanity throughout. I do the same, BTW...only search out fics that are rated M...I usually like mine dirty. I'm hoping to get it there, but...we'll see.**

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – Aeiry, Asia Grimm, cherry4812, mirroreddark, wolfiegirl81, and tatsukiba.

* * *

><p><strong>Posted:<strong> 8 July, 2011

**Word Count:** 4,053

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><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**Not Just Another Evening in the Common Room"**

Saturday afternoon—after Quidditch—and evening passed fairly quickly. It was filled with lots of lounging; a few students—Hermione mostly—studying or getting ahead on his or her homework while the others busied themselves in other ways; games, reading, piano playing...drinking.

Ron and Harry played a couple games of wizard chess, but Harry quickly became weary of it because he hardly ever won—much to Draco's mirth, who found himself challenging Ron, then parking his arse down for a game that lasted hours. In the end, Draco grabbed his wine glass—filled with his favorite elf-made wine—and went away in a huff, because _apparently_ it was the first time he'd lost and he was none too happy about losing to Ron Weasley.

"Wow, Ron!" Blaise exclaimed from his place at one of the study desks—once the blonde was out of hearing range. "That's pretty impressive. No one _ever_ beats Draco at wizard chess."

"_Hey_!" Pansy interrupted as she quickly popped up. She'd been stretched out on one of the plush purple sofas reading a book, but now she was sitting up and glaring at the dark-skinned young man. "_I_ have."

Blaise's eyes went to where his friend was and smirked at her. "Yeah, when you two were like..._twelve_!"

"Your point?" the dark-haired ex-Slytherin prompted.

Putting his quill down, Blaise sighed. "Draco was _extremely_ distracted back then and you know it."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "_So_! I _still_ won."

"_So_...Ron beat him when his mind wasn't...," Blaise began. Then, glancing around, he shrugged. "On other things," finished his sentence in a vague sort of way—to which he received another glare from Pansy before she dropped back onto the cushions and pulled her book back in front of her face, then grumbled, "When _isn't_ Draco distracted?"

Ron beamed as he finished setting up the chess board again and looked around for someone else to annihilate. "Who's next?" he asked as he rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Who'll be my next victim?"

Glancing up from her Arithmancy homework, Hermione shook her head and said, "Haven't you had _enough of that_ for the evening, Ronald?"

Ron snorted. "'Course no! I'm on a _roll_, 'Ermione," he said, his eyes going to his roommate. "How 'bout a game, Blaise?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione snapped her book closed and stood up. "_Boys_!"

Blaise chuckled at the young woman's obvious frustration, but shook his head in response to his roommate's challenge. "No way, mate. Never was any good at wizard chess," he said as he watched Hermione scoop up her books, cross the room to her boyfriend, lean down and whisper something in his ear, then walk off. Ron's face immediately turned red, then he jumped up—nearly knocking the chess board and all it's pieces to the floor—and followed Hermione from the room.

"What the _bloody hell_ was that about?" Pansy asked, popping up again, her book falling to her lap.

Chuckling again, Blaise said, "I think Weasley's about to get some."

"Pfft! I didn't know Granger had it in her," Millicent said as she hurriedly came down the stairs—glancing over her shoulder a few times to make sure Lavender hadn't followed her.

Pansy snorted. "Well, she's about to...have _it_ in her," she said as she turned a page of her book.

Grimacing, Millicent said, "That's revolting!"

"Have what, in who?" Harry asked as he entered the room from the kitchen, a glass of pumpkin juice in hand.

"Ron just followed Hermione into her room," Blaise said—then raised his eyebrows several times in a suggestive manner. "And they shut the door."

Harry glanced down the steps that led to Hermione and Daphne's room, then back at the others. "_Again_?"

"What do you mean, _again_, Potter?" Pansy asked.

"What do you _think_ he means, Pans," Millicent said, her lip curled back with disgust.

Pansy pulled a face. "Where have _I_ been?"

Harry chuckled. "Seriously. They act all shy and embarrassed, but they're really just like rabbits!" he said as he passed through the room.

Pansy's face scrunched up even further. "That's just _disgusting_, Potter!" she called after him. "I _really_ could have lived without _that_ mental image."

"What image?" Draco asked, appearing from the hallway that led to his and Harry's room—his glass of wine refilled.

"The image of Weasley and Granger fucking like rabbits," Millicent supplied as she poked a finger in the direction the couple had disappeared. She'd dropped onto the sofa beside Pansy and had scooped up her friend's book. "What the fuck are you reading, Pans?" she asked, examining the cover—which consisted of a brawny, half-naked man holding a tiny blonde woman.

"Muggle romance novel."

Millicent laughed.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried reading one, Millie. Turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four," Pansy suggested. "_Excellent_ stuff there. _Very_ hot!"

Millicent pursed her lips, but did as she was bid.

"Where's _my_ glass of wine, Drakey?" Pansy asked with a pout as she got up and sidled up to the blonde. It didn't take more than a fluttering of her eyelashes before he rolled his eyes and handed his glass to her—so that she could have a sip.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that, Parkinson!" Draco snapped testily.

Licking the wine from her lips, Pansy smirked up at Draco. "Oh, I don't know, _Draco_, but I'm sure you'll have to tell me _at least_ another hundred or so times." With that she lifted his glass to her mouth again and attempted to drink—but he snatched it away before she could. "You are absolutely _no fun at all_," she said with a pout as she plopped back down onto the sofa beside Millicent.

"So. Granger's giving it up, huh?" Draco said as he slid onto the piano bench, took a rather large sip from his glass, then set it down as he lifted the Fall. "At least _someone's_ getting some...even if it _is_ Granger and the Weasel."

"It's not just Weasley and Granger," Ernie MacMillan complained as he tromped down the stairs. "Neville just booted me out of _our_ room. Said to give him _at least_ thirty minutes."

Groaning, Blaise said, "I need a girlfriend...or at the very least, a piece of arse."

Draco snorted. "A piece of arse would be _far_ less complicated," he said as his fingers played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

"You two are swine!" Pansy hissed from the sofa—but she smirked at Draco from where she sat.

"Tell me about it," Blaise agreed—with Draco—just as Lavender practically pranced down the steps.

"Hey, _there's_ one for you," Draco said with a smirk and a nod toward the blonde, usually giggly, ex-Gryffindor.

Blaise stuck his finger down his throat and pretended to gag, just as Lavender spoke. "Anyone seen Millicent?" she asked gaily, her eyes going about the room as she looked for her roommate.

Sinking deeper into the sofa, Millicent put Pansy's novel on her head and wished she could vanish.

Silently, Pansy waved a hand to get Lavender's attention, then pointed down at a hiding Millicent.

"Oh! _There_ you are, Millie," Lavender almost giggled. "I step into the loo for a second and you disappear. Do you want to work on our Transfiguration homework."

Slowly sitting. "No Lavender, I don't."

"But it's due Tuesday."

"I finished it already," Millicent said through clenched teeth.

"Oh. Well then, maybe we could braid each other's hair," Lavender said as she ran a hand through her long blonde hair.

Millicent's eyes went to her friend Pansy, pleading for help, but Pansy shrugged, her fingers going to the ends of her hair that barely brushed her shoulders. "Sorry, _Millie_, my hair's too short for braiding."

Grinding her teeth, Millicent glared at Pansy, then plastered on her best imitation of a Gryffindor grin and turned to Lavender. "Thanks, _Lav_, but...I don't think so...not tonight."

Pouting her disappointment, and apparently not hearing the frustration in her roommate's voice, Lavender glanced around the room. "Maybe we could all play a game then," she suggested. "Something we could all enjoy."

"Like what?" Lila Malone asked from where she sat on a different sofa. She'd been flipping through the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_.

Lavender shrugged. "How about Spin the Bottle?"

Pansy made a retching noise. "How very _juvenile_."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lavender said, "It was _just_ a suggestion, Pansy."

Wondering when she and the Gryffindork had started being on a first name basis, Pansy rolled her eyes. "And a moronic one at that!"

"Hear, hear!" Draco threw out as he paused to take a drink, then continued to play the piano.

Lavender narrowed her eyes at him, then to the room she said, "Come on, guys, it'll be fun."

"Sounds like you just fancy kissing everyone in the room," Blaise teased.

Lavender shrugged. "And what's wrong with kissing?"

Blaise laughed. "Not a thing...if it leads to—"

"Except that I'd probably end up having to kiss Potter," Draco interrupted, "and that would be...nauseating." He shuddered.

"Hey!" Harry burst as he came back into the room, parked himself on a chair, and swiveled it so that he was facing the piano. "There's nothin' wrong with my kissin', Malfoy. In fact, I've been told _is_ quite nice."

From the piano bench, Draco raised a brow. _Was Potter's speech slurred?_ he wondered. "Is that so?"

Harry nodded. "Yep!" he said, popping the 'p' for emphasis.

Halting his piano playing, Draco stood up and crossed the space to stand in front of his raven-haired roommate. "What're you _drinking_, Potter?"

Blinking up at the blonde, Harry smiled and said, "Pumpkin juice."

With a snort, Draco grabbed Harry's cup and sniffled it. "Yeah, spiked with Firewhiskey!" he said. "Wow, I had no idea you Gryffindors were capable of having a little drink to loosen up."

"'Course we are, Malfoy," Harry said as he reached up and reacquired his cup. "We can be jus a sloose as you slithering snakes."

Draco laughed. "Someone better get Potter a sober-up potion before he passes out."

"Hey, I know, let's play a _drinking_ game," Lavender suggested, then giggled.

"_Just_ what Potter needs," Draco said with a derisive snort as he rolled his eyes, "_more_ to drink."

Glaring at the blonde, Harry got to his feet—none too steadily—and walked from the room.

For a second, all Draco could do was watch Harry's retreating back, then held up a hand in the direction his roommate had gone. "_See_? Can't hold his liquor."

There were a few laughs, but everyone stopped when Harry suddenly reappeared. Along with his cup of spiked Pumpkin juice, he held a glass phial of something so bright in color it was almost glowing. Quickly, he popped the top off, downed its contents, then grimaced. "Happy now, Malfoy?" he asked sarcastically. "Sober as I was an hour ago." Then shuddering, Harry said, "Argh. Why do potions always have to taste like goblin piss?"

"Have a lot of experience with that, do you, Harry?" came a voice from directly behind him.

Spinning around, Harry's eyes widened—as had everyone's in the room—then he started backing away...which promptly sent him tumbling over the back of one of the sofas and crashing to the common room floor. It took a moment to get air back into his lungs, but then he quickly scrambled back up to his feet.

"Fuck, George!" he exclaimed. "You scared the bloody hell out of me. What in Merlin's name are you _doing_ here?"

"As much as I love him...I'm _not_ George. Have both ears, see?" the _not George_ man said as he turned his head from side to side and pointed, proving that he did indeed have two ears. "When are you people going to be able to tell us apart? Bad enough that my own mum can't sometimes."

Gaping for a moment, Harry tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. "_Fred_?" he whispered as stared at the fairly solid-looking being in front of him.

"Yep! One and the same."

"But...but you're...dead," Lavender blurted. Upon seeing George Weasley's dead twin she'd fallen to the floor—in her haste to escape—but she was now standing and inching her way toward the stairwell.

"Along with all the other ghosts in the place," Fred said jovially.

Recovering from his shock, Harry straightened up and tried to smile—though it was a somewhat wary smile. "What are you _doing here_, F-Fred?"

Fred shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I wasn't ready to move on. Unfinished business...and all that nonsense," he said with a wave of his hand.

Harry nodded his understanding and continued to stare—then he shook his head. "No. Nearly Headless Nick once told me that witches and wizards make the _choice_ to remain behind...that we have to do it before we die in order to stay here."

"All right," Fred said another shrug. "I guess I didn't want to leave then. I _couldn't_."

Harry nodded again, because that made perfect sense to him—with Fred dying and leaving behind a twin and all—and then he frowned. "Wait a minute. You're not transparent...like all the other ghosts in the castle."

Fred looked down at himself and he too frowned. "No. I'm not, huh?"

"Are you corporeal?"

Fred shrugged, then reached out a hand and tried to touch Harry—which passed right through the younger man. "I'd say that's a no."

His brow pinched slightly, Harry said, "You look more like..._Peeves_." He'd whispered the last word so as not to call the annoying little castle poltergeist into their common room.

"Hmmph! That I do," Fred said. "Well, I'm not surprised, given my penchant for mischief and jokes and the like."

Harry chuckled nervously. "Too right. I do hope you'll behave."

Fred snorted. "Not likely, Harry, but we'll see."

Harry grinned. "I've missed you, Fred...we _all_ have."

"_Naturally_," the redhead said teasingly—but then he became serious. "How's the family?" Fred queried.

All thoughts of sober-up potions and drinking games gone, Harry moved closer to Fred the Poltergeist and shrugged.

"Georgie?"

"He's been...in a bad way. Your mother as well," Harry admitted. "Your father's been beside himself, so...Charlie's moved in to help out. And Bill and Fleur visit as much as possible."

Fred nodded. "What about Percy?" he asked, suddenly remembering his last conversation with his older brother.

"He's back, but...still a—"

"—a git," Fred finished with a grin that still matched that of his twin.

Harry grinned and nodded.

And then Fred frowned. It was a look that would have previously seemed foreign, and therefore out of place, on the red-haired man's usually happy face, but so much had changed that Harry didn't really think twice about it. "What about Ronniekins? He around?"

"He's ahh...yeah, Ron's here," Harry said with a nod, his eyes darting in the direction of the room that housed his best mate. "But ahh. Umm."

Then seeing Fred's gaze follow his, and his hovering form start toward Hermione's room, Harry frowned and said, "Wait, Fred! Don't!"

But Fred was already gone—and in the next second there were screams coming from Hermione's bedroom, several loud crashing sounds, a heavy thump, and then...

"Oh, Merlin! My eyes, my eyes!" howled Fred the Poltergeist as he passed through the wall connecting Hermione's room to the common room. "Why wasn't I warned?" he went on, as if in pain, as he flew up the stairs to the second floor. "I'll _never_ be the same. EVER!"

"What the _bloody fuck_, GEORGE!" Ron bellowed as he stormed from his girlfriend's bedroom—clad only in the copper-colored silk sheets that had previously adorned her bed—his blue eyes flashing furiously as he looked around for his brother. "Where is he?" he finally demanded once he'd given the room a once over and still hadn't sighted his brother.

"Umm. _Ron_," Harry began—then stopped when a loud—ghostly—moaned sounded from somewhere upstairs.

Ron's angry eyes went to the ceiling over his head, then he started for the stairs. "What a _chicken shit_!" he growled. "I can't _believe_ he just burst in on us like that!"

"You should have warned me, Harry," Fred scolded—he'd appeared next to Harry...and several steps behind Ron, who'd turned around and was staring in disbelief. "That was just..._ghastly_!" Fred bemoaned. "I doubt I'll get the sight of Ron's white arse out of my mind for...well, for _at least_ as long as I live."

At the poltergeist's last words, Harry's mouth dropped open in disbelief—but then he started laughing. He couldn't seem to help himself because Fred was grinning like lunatic.

"Hey there, ickle Ronniekins! Fred here!" Fred said with a wave—which sent Ron Weasley crashing to the floor, passed out cold.

**XxXxXxX**

Wrapped in a plush purple robe—her feet bare—Hermione entered the common room just as her boyfriend went down. Quickly, she ran forward and, dropping down beside him, she gently lifted his head to her lap and pushed a clump of red hair from his sweaty brow.

"What _happened_?" a completely disheveled Hermione Granger asked the room at large—everyone just stared at her, shocked by both what they'd just witnessed—the dead Weasley's appearance in their common room—and by seeing the bushy-haired young woman openly show affection for her boyfriend.

"_I_ happened, apparently," came a voice Hermione believed to be George Weasley.

Scowling, Hermione craned her neck and looked up at the red-haired man standing beside Harry. "That was..._completely_ uncalled for, George!" she bellowed. "How _could_ you?"

"Trust me, I didn't care for the sight myself!" he snapped with an almost violent shudder. "And..._Merlin_, Granger, I didn't know the two of you were...you know," he finished, making an obscene gesture as he spoke.

Several people in the room snickered, but Hermione's face reddened. "_George_!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"F-Fred," Ron mumbled, his eyes opening. "N-not G-George."

Hermione's eyes once again on Ron's face, she frowned. "What, Ronald?" she said as she leaned closer to him. "What was that?"

"Little Ronniekins has _actually_ figured this one out," Fred said—now just a foot away and kneeling beside his brother. "I'm Fred...not George."

Hermione's eyes widened, her mouth forming an 'o' as she stared. "_Fred_?" she whispered.

"In the flesh," he said. "Er...well...I guess not...not technically speaking...but yes!"

"But...you're dead."

"That's what the blonde bint said," Fred teased—which caused more snickering—as he pointed at Lavender Brown.

"_Hey_!" Lavender said with a look somewhere between a pout and a glare.

"I think I _like_ this Weasley," Pansy chimed in from the sofa.

"You're...a ghost?" Hermione asked, ignoring the other two girls.

"We've decided on poltergeist," Fred said, standing again—and floating several inches above the floor. "Since you can't see through me." Spinning, Fred displayed his non-transparent self and grinned down at his brother's girlfriend.

Hermione nodded. "But...but _how_?" she asked as she worked to get Ron to his feet.

"Dunno," Fred said with a shrug as watched her struggle with Ron. "I'd help you with him, you know, but..." He reached out a hand and poked the space where Harry was standing; his finger went right through the dark-haired young man. "Can't."

"Oh. Right," Harry said as he came forward to help his friends.

Standing now, Ron cocked his head to the side as tears welled. "_Fred_? Is it really you?"

The poltergeist grinned and nodded. "Yeah, sure is, little brother," he said—then started looking around. "Looks like you've been moved out of Gryffindor...and upgraded, I'd say. This place is _nice_! I've never been here though. Where _is_ here?"

Ron blinked at Fred's quick change of subject, not knowing how to respond. Instead, he just wiped at his eyes and let Harry speak. "New dormitory. Fifth floor," his green-eyed friend supplied.

Fred nodded again, then frowned—he'd finally noticed there were others there. "What's _Malfoy_ doing here?" he asked, poking a finger at the blonde standing there watching.

Several glanced at Malfoy—who stiffened, but stood his ground—but no one spoke...for a moment.

"Umm. McGonagall said there wasn't room in our original Houses, so she put those of us who chose to come back and finish our seventh year here...together. We're all in one House now," Hermione explained. "We have six Gryffindors, five Hufflepuffs, four Ravenclaws, and five Slytherins."

"Cozy," Fred quipped.

"Pfft! You don't know that half of it," Ron said; he was still quite frustrated by their rooming assignments—they'd been given so much freedom, supposedly since they were all of age, and yet they had no choice with whom they shared a room and their "elective" classes were anything but.

"That's only half what it should be," Fred said. "_Twenty_? Where're the rest?"

"Those who felt ready, took their N.E.W.T.s at the end of last year...so they're finished," Hermione said—then shrugged. "And some went...elsewhere, I suppose."

Fred nodded. "And the others?"

Hermione bit her lip and glanced at Malfoy.

"Vincent Crabbe was killed in the battle," Draco said.

Fred sent a glare over at Malfoy—as if the blonde was interrupting a private conversation—then shrugged and started floating around the room. "Blimey, this place is _massive_! Quite large for just the twenty of you. You allowed to have others in here?"

"McGonagall said we could," Ron said.

"You could really have some _great_ parties in here!" Fred went on—then he noticed the wine glass in Malfoy's hand. "Where'd you get the wine, git?"

"If you _must_ know," Draco said with a roll of his steely gray eyes, "Mother sent it over when I requested it. We've been given permission to drink, you see."

Fred came right up into Malfoy's pale face and said, "Is that so?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, it is...and I'd appreciate it if, since apparently you're going to insist on haunting us, you'd use my _actual_ name, instead of those meant to be belittle, or epithets."

"Can I call you Ferret?" Fred asked with a laugh.

Gritting his teeth, Draco glared at the dead Weasley, then turned and headed from the room.

"Ferret it is then," Fred called out loudly, then chortled with glee. "_Mother sent it over when I _requested_ it_," the red-haired poltergeist then mimicked.

Glancing at Ron, Harry chuckled; he couldn't help but remember how his friend had sounded when he'd imitated Hermione a few days before—Fred sounded _exactly_ the same.

"Think I've changed my mind about you, Weasley. Just because you're dead, doesn't mean you have to be an arse!" Pansy snapped at the dead man as she jumped to her feet and went after Malfoy.

After Pansy was gone, Hermione frowned, then looked at Fred the Poltergeist. "She's got a point, Fred."

"_What_?" Fred looked affronted.

"We're trying to get along here," Hermione explained. "It's not easy, considering what we've all been through, but...we're _doing_ it. And we've been doing all right. If you're going to be here, you'll have to be nice...and not just to the ex-Gryffindors."

At this Fred snorted, then swooped over, right into Hermione's face. "I'm a malevolent spirit, Granger...I don't have to do _anything_!"

Hands on her hips, Hermione squared her shoulders and glared up at the red-haired dead man. "But you _will_, Fred."

Fred's ghostly eyes narrowed. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm sure because I'll...I'll put up wards to keep you out of our House if you don't play nice," she threatened.

This made Ron groan—but it caused Fred to frown. Glancing at his brother, Fred said, "Can she _do_ that?"

Shrugging, Ron said, "_I_ wouldn't put it past her, but...Malfoy _is_ a git, 'Ermione...Fred's only calling it like it is."

Hermione frowned. "_Draco_ is part of our House now, Ronald, so...give it a rest!" she scolded. "And that goes for _everyone_. We're not going to make it through this year if we don't get along and stick together," she went on, her eyes going to some of the others who'd been bickering for days. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go put on some clothing...and have a drink," she added as she walked from the room.

At this Fred the Poltergeist groaned. "Yes. Please do, Granger...you too, _Ronald_!" he said—then snickered.


	14. Yet MORE Conversation

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

Ellesra (10 July, 2011) – Hmm.. HMMMM.. 0_0 I am kinda... Not sure what to think about this. Oh well. Later. ***~*~*~* LOL. Of course you're not, Sara. :p**

Joanna23 (10 July, 2011) – I almost thought that Hermione would threaten Fred with Molly. O.o ***~*~*~* LOL. Probably **_**should**_** have, huh? Sorry. =(**

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – Potter-Bones, free-to-fly-2010, StrawberryLovers, yours-in-apathy, Celeb'loki, and FireBrimstoneShadow.

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>17 July, 2011

**Word Count: **4,315

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Fourteen**

"**Yet MORE Conversation"**

"Don't you listen to that _stupid_ Weasley ghost, Draco," Pansy said in a pouty voice as she crawled up onto her friend's bed and lay down beside him, her eyes meeting his in the mirror above them. They'd been friends for years, since infancy really, and she knew him extremely well—coming back to Hogwarts after all that had happened hadn't been easy on him and he was hurting. Most people didn't see it, and if they did they didn't care, because he was Lucius Malfoy's son. No one cared about the son of a former Death Eater.

But Pansy cared. She cared a lot. Most people assumed that Pansy and Draco fancied one another, but their friendship wasn't like that. They'd pretended to date at times, when it was convenient or served some sort of purpose, but that's all it had _ever_ been—pretending. They used to pretend a lot of things when they were children...like doing a runner—because both their families had their entire lives planned out for them and they didn't like it. Pansy's mother and Draco's mother had been friends since _they_ were young, so it was only natural that Pansy and Draco would be close as well—but not as close as their mothers wanted them to be. Their mothers hoped they'd fall for one another—or at the very least, join their houses together in marriage. Their fathers, on the other hand, didn't want this and had taken steps to make sure it didn't happen—they'd each been betrothed to another as toddlers—not that it matter, because, though Pansy loved Draco and he loved her, they both knew that _that_ was all it was...a loving friendship. But that didn't stop them from wishing things were different. Neither wanted to marry a stranger—but neither saw a way out of it without losing everything.

Lying flat on his back, his legs crossed at the ankles and his finger woven behind his head, Draco sighed. "I deserve everything I get."

Bolting up, Pansy looked down at her friend, concern etching itself into her brow. "No you don't, Draco. Not the bad stuff...and _certainly_ not the censure of some _bloody_ spirit."

"I do, Pans," he said, though he did smile at her comment. "I've spent the last seven years tormenting Potter and his friends and for what...because he wouldn't shake my hand that first day?"

Pansy shrugged.

"I was a right bastard!"

Snorting, Pansy lay back down and nestled herself into the blond's side, smiling when he shifted to wrap his left arm around her. "It's not like Potter and his lot didn't deserve some of it, Draco. He's been quite an arse for most of those years."

"Humph!"

"He _has_," she protested, then frowned at her friend's seemingly sudden shift in behavior. She knew her friend was...as into boys as he was girls. It was probably part of the reason why they'd stayed friends for so long—because Pansy's desires ran along the same line. She definitely fancied boys, but...she wasn't opposed to an occasional female lover either. It was something that they had in common, something they'd known about one another for as long as they could remember—something they'd told no one else. Not at Hogwarts, at least—Pansy suspected that Narcissa Malfoy knew all about her son's proclivities. But, though they kept things from others, they often compared notes on their conquests—and there'd been a few over the years. In fact, during the summer of their sixteenth year, they'd managed to sneak off to Canal Street in Manchester on several occasions.

But such desires also made their predicaments with their fathers' wishes even more difficult to handle. Not only was their freedom to choose their own spouses being taken away, the sex of that spouse was also being chosen for them as well. And neither even knew to whom they were betrothed. It was something they'd been trying to figure out for years...since the day their parents had sat them down—separately—and told them. They were both twelve at the time, and both were expected to marry other pure-bloods, of course, but neither felt even the slightest urge to marry and procreate, as their fathers wanted.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you...ahh...um..." She faltered.

Frowning, Draco said, "Do I what?"

"Um...do you...fancy _Potter_?" she asked, her lip curling as if she was appalled.

For a second, Draco was silent—and then, "_Pfft_!"

Bolting up again, Pansy gasped, then slapped her friend's chest—quite hard—causing Draco to wince. "You _do_!" she burst. "Oh _Merlin_, Draco! All those years of fighting with that _ridiculous_ Gryfindork and...it was all just..._foreplay_!" she screeched as she smacked her friend again—then started giggling almost hysterically. "And...don't you _dare_ roll your eyes at me, Mister Draco _too-many-middle-names-to recite_ Malfoy," she growled—or pretended to—then dropped back down onto his chest. "I can't _believe_ this!"

Silence.

"For how long?" Pansy asked after several minutes of silence.

Draco shrugged. "A few years, I guess."

"I can't _believe_ you kept such a thing from me," Pansy whinged. "What kind of friend doesn't know something like _this_ about her best mate? I am _so_ depressed."

"Right, because I should have said, 'Oh, by the way, Pans, I think I fancy a snog with Potter.' How _exactly_ would that've gone over with you?"

Pansy giggled, then tilted her head so that she could see her friend. "Probably not so well...before now," she admitted.

Draco grinned at her, then pulled her closer and squeezed. "It's not like it matters. He's with the Weaslette," he said with a frown.

Pansy shook her head. "No. Uh-uh. I don't think so. I saw her flirting with some Ravenclaw bloke just this morning...and I don't think she's the type of girl to do that if she was currently in a relationship with someone else...especially one with Saint Potter."

For a few minutes, Draco contemplated the information. He'd definitely noticed that Harry and the red-haired girl had been acting strangely—he'd been trying to figure out what was going on between those two for _days_—but he hadn't considered that they'd broken up. In fact, he'd seen the youngest Weasley kiss Harry just the day before. It was on the cheek, but..._still_. If they'd broken up, it sure was an amiable break-up.

"Oh. Well...still doesn't matter," Draco said with a shrug. "Father would _never_ allow such a dalliance."

Rolling her eyes, Pansy sat up again. "_That's_ easy to get around, Draco, dear...you just don't tell him. It's not like Lucius is...all that aware these days," she said, lowering her voice because she knew she was touching on a subject her friend most definitely wouldn't want to talk about. Unlike her family, who'd had virtually no part in the war, his had been mired in it. Everybody knew that.

Draco frowned—but it was true. His father went from ranting and raving over inconsequential things to moping around the Manor...to sitting in different rooms and just staring off into space. "True," he whispered.

"And I doubt Narcissa would _give a bloody fuck_...even if she were ever to find out. She'd probably say, 'Keep it discrete, dear.'"

Draco smiled at Pansy's impersonation of his mother, then nodded. "No, you're right, Mother wouldn't care at all."

"Well _see_? You should just...have some fun," Pansy said with a playful grin. "Get it out of your system and all that shite. Then do the grown up thing and marry whichever silly little pure-blood bint your father's procured for you."

Draco chuckled. "Right. Get it out of my system...and all that."

Pansy nodded. "Right! What your father doesn't know won't hurt him...and all that," she said and grinned down at him.

Draco laughed again. "Right. But you seem to have forgotten one _small_ little problem here."

"And what's that, darling?" the brunette woman asked.

"Potter _hates_ me."

"Draco, you know as well as I that you can get _anyone_ to do _whatever_ you want them to. If you just turn on the charm, I have _no doubt_ you could pull him."

Grinning at his long-time friend, Draco reached up and pulled her back down into his arms. "You're completely mental...you know that, right?"

"But you love me," she said as she leaned down and kissed him.

"Yeah, 'course I love you," Draco replied—just as the bedroom door opened and Potter walked in.

"Er...sorry," the dark-haired young man said when he noticed that Pansy was lying next to—and partially on—Draco. "I was just...gonna shower. I can come back though," he said as he turned to leave.

"No need to leave on _our_ account, Potter...it's your room too," Draco said, then tensed up because Pansy started to giggle.

"Er...I'll be quick then," Harry said, his green eyes going from Draco's gray ones to the back of Pansy's head, "and...ahh...get out of your way."

"No problem, Potter," Pansy said with a grin as she rolled over and watched her friend's roommate step further into the room and remove his shirt—and deposit it on the floor. "I wasn't staying anyway. You know...McGonagall's rules and all."

Harry frowned at the ex-Slytherin girl's almost friendly tone—which was strange since she'd always been so rude to him and his friends—then shrugged, grabbed up his clean pyjama bottoms, and headed for the bathroom. "Whatever," he tossed over his shoulder as he went.

"Well, _that_ went well," Pansy said with another giggle once the bathroom door clicked closed. Moving to get up, she went on. "I say you pour on the charm, love," she said with a pat on Draco's chest. "Strip down to your pants...or better yet, get starkers and just lie here waiting."

"Sod off, Parkinson!"

"_What_? You already said you fancy him. Why not at least _try_ to get him?"

"Because. Can you imagine how awkward it would be if I did and he..." Draco let his words trail off because he wasn't willing to say, _turned me down_...because, Malfoys _didn't_ get turned down. "What would people say?"

"Are you afraid people'd call you a queer?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "_No_. I'm afraid it would get back to my father and then there'd be hell to pay."

Pansy pursed her lips. "I see your point," she said with a shudder. "Mind if _I_ try then?" she then asked with a saucy grin. "I never noticed before, but..._Potter's hot_!"

Sitting up, Draco grabbed one of his many pillows and chucked it at the young woman. "Yes, he is...and _no_, you may not!"

Pansy pretended to pout, then she stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine then. I'm just gonna go. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she called out over her shoulder as she headed to the door.

Draco laughed. "So. That means I can do any bloody thing I want then, right?"

At the door, Pansy turned and flashed him another grin, then bobbed her head. "Abso-_fucking_-lutely! And, maybe you could even teach him to pick up after himself," she said as she wrinkled up her nose and pointed at Potter's belongings—several articles of clothing were strewn on the floor on Potter's side of the room. "Or maybe you'll just have to start picking up after him."

Draco snorted. "Not likely...and I don't see _him_ doing it any time soon either. The bloke's a slob," he said, remembering the state of Potters belongings on their first night back at school.

"Hmm. Well...good luck then. Night," Pansy said with a flirtatious wave as she closed the door behind her.

**XxXxXxX**

In the bathroom, Harry turned on the water, then finished stripping and got into the shower. Standing under the hot spray, Harry soaked himself from head to toe—and then just continued to stand there. His first thoughts were of Parkinson in Malfoy's bed and he wondered if they were going to shag—and then he decided to take his time, because he had no desire to walk in on _that_.

And then Harry's thoughts shifted to Fred Weasley; his mind was reeling from the sudden reappearance of his best mate's dead brother. It was unbelievable and pretty amazing. Yeah, the guy was dead, but at least they'd get to see and talk to him again. He did seem a bit strange though...not completely himself. But he _was_ a ghost now, so maybe he was _supposed_ to be different...or couldn't help it. But at least George would have his other half back...sort of.

_Everything_ was different though and that was...disconcerting. They'd returned to school to finish their seventh year, but they weren't in their original Houses anymore—which was weird. He was sharing a room with _Draco Malfoy_, of all people, who was, strangely enough, being relatively civil—that was even weirder. In just five days they'd managed to put together a pretty decent Quidditch team for themselves, and he and Malfoy were sharing captaining duties—thank Merlin someone was helping him, because he'd really rather not have all the responsibility. There were some new and interesting professors to get to know—though, they were sort of odd too—an _American_ and two others who were suspiciously perfect. He and Ginny had decided to see other people—which was unexpected, but not unwelcomed. And _now_, Fred Weasley had returned—to be their House poltergeist, he supposed. Very strange!

After probably twenty minutes of just standing there, Harry washed his hair—using his own shampoo this time—then quickly soaped his body, rinsed, and turned off the water. It didn't take long to dry off and pull on his pyjamas, then he ran a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth. Then, hoping he'd given his roommate enough time, he cracked the door open.

"Is it safe to come out?" he asked without looking into the room. The last thing he wanted to see was a view similar to what Fred saw when he walked in on Ron and Hermione.

"Safe for what exactly?" came Malfoy's voice.

"Er...safe so that I don't have to see you two shagging."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not shagging Pansy, Potter. Never have, never will."

Harry opened the door completely and stepped into the room. Malfoy was still stretched out on his bed, but now he was sitting up slightly, leaning against the headboard—his feet and chest bare—and a glass of wine in one hand while he casually flipped through a magazine with the other. "Hmm. I thought you two were...together," Harry said as he looked away from the other young man's scarred chest.

Draco glanced up from his magazine and said, "And _I thought_ that _you_ were dating the Wealette."

At this Harry frowned. "Who says that I'm not?"

Draco shrugged. "No one _says_. You two just don't act like two people who are...a couple."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And how do couples act?"

"Not like _you two_," Draco said evasively, then closed his magazine and tossed it aside, straightened up and sat cross-legged, and took a sip of his wine. "I talked to her today."

"To Gin?" Harry queried.

Draco nodded.

"And how'd _that_ go?" Harry asked as he started picking up all the shite he'd dropped on his side of the room—much to Draco's surprise.

Draco shrugged. "Fine. I was just watching your Gryffindorks practice. She accused me of spying, and then felt the need to tell me how much she doesn't like me."

Harry laughed at this. "Well...good for her!"

"Were you afraid I was hitting on her?"

"The thought never crossed my mind, Malfoy," Harry denied. "Ginny's got _far_ better taste than that."

At that, Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'll have you know that I'm quite tasty."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. Whatever," he said as he tossed this dirty clothing onto his trunk.

"She's a distant cousin of mine," Draco went on. "Did you know that?"

Harry looked up at his roommate. "Actually, I did know that. The Black family tree pretty much takes up an entire wall in my house. It's in pretty poor shape, but I'd like to bring it back to life...and restore those who were blasted off of it."

Draco blinked. "You live at number...um...at Grimmauld Place?"

Harry nodded. "My godfather left it to me...when he was _murdered_."

"Sirius Black was your _godfather_?"

Harry nodded again. "He was my father's best friend."

"I'm...sorry," Draco whispered. "About Sirius, I mean." He'd heard his Aunt Bellatrix happily retelling the story of how she'd killed Sirius Black, her own cousin; it had sickened him then, but now that he knew more of the story, he felt sick all over again. And sad too...because, had things been different—had his family been able to get along with their cousin—_he_ might have actually been able to have a friendship with Harry Potter since they were small children. Not likely though, considering the other boy, the _Chosen One_, was responsible for the Dark Lord's demise...and Draco's own family had followed a madman.

Harry stared at the blond for a second, then shrugged; it wasn't, after all, Malfoy's fault that his lunatic aunt had killed her own cousin—who just happened to be Harry's godfather. If circumstances had been different—if there were no prejudices against those who weren't pure-bloods...and had there never been a Tom Riddle—Harry's family _might have_ been friendly with the Malfoys...Harry _could _have been friends with Draco Malfoy.

"And I'm...sorry about _that_," Harry said with a nod at Draco's scarred chest. Just the thought that he'd committed such an atrocity sickened him.

Unconsciously, Draco's hand came up and passed over the long, silvery mark that Harry had put there. "I deserved it," he said with a shrug.

"No one deserves what I did to you."

"Forget about it, Potter...I was going to _Crucio_ you," Draco admitted.

Harry nodded; he'd figured as much. "I know, but...still. I didn't even know what the curse did," he said with a shake of his head that showed his shame.

For a long moment Draco just stared at his former rival—and then he changed the subject. "So. _Wow_. Walburga must be turning over in her grave," he said. "Having _you_ there in her house and all."

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Not just _turning over_...that bitch tells me almost every time I walk in the door that she doesn't want me there. She's constantly screaming about _Mudbloods_ and _blood traitors_. I _really_ need to find a way to get her _fucking_ portrait off the wall."

"Have you tried a silencing charm?"

Harry nodded. "Of course. It's clearly been spelled to resist them...just as it's spelled to the wall...some sort of permanent sticking charm, I believe. I've tried everything I can think of, but..._nothing_! But I'll find a way. I _have_ to, because I can't continue to tip-toe into my own house. It's ridiculous!"

Draco chuckled. "_Merlin_, it's been _years_ since I've been there. I was five when my great aunt died. We attended her funeral and then went back to her house. Never met Great Uncle Orion though...he died the year before I was born."

Harry nodded.

"Of course...you already know that," Draco said, "since you've obviously studied that side of my family tree extensively."

"Yep! It's bloody hard to miss."

"I suppose," Draco said as he reached for the bottle of wine on his night table and refilled his glass. "Care for some?"

Harry shook his head. "Just brushed my teeth."

"You're a _wizard_, Potter," Draco said with a roll of his eyes. "Surely you could just wave your wand and make those pearly whites fresh and clean again."

Harry frowned. "Hermione says that's not the same as actually brushing them."

"Yeah, it's _better_ to spell them clean," Draco insisted. "Brushing your teeth _damages_ them."

"And how do you know that?"

"Mother told me," the blond said, as if his mother was all-knowing.

"Well, don't tell Hermione's parents that. They're dentists and they're adamant that she physically brush."

Draco scoffed. "As if I'd be caught talking to _Granger's_ parents," he said as he conjured another glass and filled it, then held it out to his roommate. "Come on. One glass won't kill you."

Reluctantly, Harry stepped forward and took the proffered glass. "You might try curbing your anti-Muggle sentiments, Malfoy...they're liable to get you into no end of shite."

"What are you _talking_ about, Potter?"

"You really don't know, do you?" Harry asked.

"I used her _name_, didn't I?"

Shaking his head at Malfoy's clueless expression, Harry lifted his glass to his lips and drank. "Not bad."

"Not _bad_?" Draco bellowed. "I'll have you know that this is the finest elf-made wine in its region."

Harry shrugged. "I haven't much experience with wine, Malfoy, elf-made or otherwise...or drinking, for that matter. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know...but maybe you could muster just a tad more enthusiasm," Draco bitched.

"I said it was good."

"_No_, you said it wasn't _bad_."

"Whatever," Harry said with a dismissive wave as he took another sip—that was really much more of a gulp. "Same thing."

"Pfft! Totally _not_ the same thing!" Draco snapped, then lifted his glass to his mouth.

"Do you _really_ want to argue about technicalities, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

Frowning, because everything in him wanted to argue with his roommate—pointless as it was—Draco clenched his jaw, then shook his head. "Guess not. Finish that up," he said with a nod at Harry's glass, "and I'll give you a refill."

Harry took another sip, then downed the rest, and then held his glass out to the blond.

Smiling, Draco reached out and wrapped his hand around Harry's—to steady the glass while he poured...or so he told himself—and had to fight the stab of pain he felt when Harry flinched upon contact. "It's...made in France," he said after quickly letting go of Harry's hand and setting the bottle down again.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. Does your family buy anything that's _not_ from France?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. But Mother likes French-made wine. The elves there have an entirely different process of making it and Father says it's far superior."

"Right. _Of course_ he does," Harry said as he raised his glass to his mouth.

"I don't know why you have to be such a bloody prat, Potter."

"And I don't know why you have to be such a wanker, _Malfoy_," Harry shot back.

Sighing, Draco ran a hand through his hair and said, "Here I am, sharing my _expensive_ wine and _trying_ to be friendly, and you resort to putting me down. I don't know why I try."

Harry frowned. "You started it."

"How's that?"

"You called me a prat."

"You started in on me about my family," Draco countered. "And we both know you'd have exploded on me if I'd said one word about yours."

Harry sighed, then nodded. "You're right," he said. "Sorry then." Harry stared at the other boy for a second, then gulped down his wine, set his glass on his night table, and climbed onto his bed.

"Apology accepted," Draco said, then smiled again. "More wine?"

"You trying to get me drunk, Malfoy?" Harry asked with a teasing smile.

"Pfft. You wish, Potter," Draco said as he turned his back and set his own glass down, then got into his own bed. "And I was just asking. Excuse _me_ for being polite."

"Merlin, Draco, you're whinging like a girl," Harry snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

For a moment, Draco said nothing, and then his brain seemed to catch up with Harry's words—and the fact that Harry had used his first name. "What did you call me?"

Now it was Harry's turn to sit there in silence. "It was a fluke, Malfoy. It doesn't mean anything."

"Is that why you and the Weaslette aren't dating anymore?" Draco asked. "Because you don't like girls?"

Harry stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly for a second before he spoke. "No. I like girls just fine," Harry replied—then he grinned. "Are you _pissed_, Malfoy?"

Not wanting to continue the conversation he'd started—because he'd completely fouled it up—Draco nodded. "I think I am. Too much wine."

Harry nodded. "Thought as much," he said. "You're acting sort of...odd."

From his bed, Draco looked over at Harry, but he had no idea what to say to him.

"You need a sober-up potion?"

Draco just shook his head.

"All right. Fine."

Still having nothing to say, Draco just lay there staring at his roommate.

"Hey. Um. Mind not mentioning the Ginny thing to Ron or Hermione...or anyone else, for that matter?" Harry asked. "You were right about us. She and I _have_ decided to...um...not be a couple. For now."

Draco's eyes widened. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I'll be going into Auror training after this year and she's considering a career in Quidditch." Pausing, he shrugged again. "We've decided that we're too young to get serious. Don't you think?"

"I guess," Draco agreed, then turned his head to stare up at himself in the mirror. He didn't think Potter would just come right out and tell him that he and the Weaslette had broken up. _Interesting_.

"So, you won't say anything?" Harry pushed. "I mean, we know we can't hide it all year, but Ginny's asked for some time."

"Fine, Potter. Whatever."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Yeah...like I said..._whatever_," Draco said almost sullenly—though secretly he was pleased that Potter had, of his own free will, shared a secret with him, Draco Malfoy, his long-time enemy.

"G'night then," Harry said as he turned off their light.

"Yeah. Night," Draco said. For a minute he just lay there staring into the dark, then he rolled over and went to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

So...I went and saw part two of **Deathly Hallows**...who else has seen it? And, what did you all think? I thought it was good...but so, so sad. I didn't cry as much for Snape as I thought I would, but that scene was done very well, IMO. I cried for Fred, but it was anti-climactic, the way they did it. Loved the "Not my daughter, bitch!" line from Molly (to Bellatrix) and I cried tears of joy watching Molly take her out! The theater cheered for that...as they did when Neville killed Nagini. Excellent! =) I didn't like that they killed Goyle instead of Crabbe though...or that Zabini was there instead of Crabbe...that was an odd decision, as far as I'm concerned. Was Crabbe in the movie at all? Anyway...now I'm sad that it's completely over. =(


	15. Wards

**Author's Note**

Just learned something interesting and thought I'd share. Typically I go for the American spelling of words, because...well...I'm an American, so I spell color and flavor _without_ a "u" and apologize with a "z" instead of an "s," and therefore it stands to reason that I spell the color gray with an "a," because that too is the American way to spell it. And, in fact, I do spell it the American way, because grey, with an "e," is British. But, did you know that gray and grey are actually two different colors? Well, neither did I until I read about it on **"I Correct Your Grammar Because I Love You"** on Facebook. Grey is usually thought to be a hue of silver, while gray is on a sliding scale of values from black to white. Anyway...it fascinated me, so I'm sharing.

Further...I always thought it was the same with the word blond(e)...without the "e" American, with the "e" British...but this is not true! The word "blond" refers to the color, whether it is of hair, wood, or whatever. "Blonde," however, refers only to a woman or a girl with blond hair. A man with blond hair is a blond (without the "e"), though. It even said that some consider the word "blonde" to be a sexist term and have dropped the "e" in all usages. So, I am a blonde, because I have blond hair. Okay...so...that means I've used it _completely_ wrong throughout my writings and, until I get the hang of it, it's going to stay wrong. *sigh*

Okay...so...**chapter fifteen** is short...so sorry! And I apologize for how long it took to get something so damned short posted. =( My only excuse is that I've been reading...A LOT! *sigh*

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

livedadream (17 July, 2011) – Good story. I have seen the Film it's amazing. And no Crabbe wasn't in the movie cos he was fired after he was arrested for drug possession or something. Any ways good chapter. ***~*~*~* Thank you. *grin* And...hmm...about the kid (Jamie Waylett) who played Crabbe. I figured **_**something**_** had happened, but...that sucks...I hate it when they changed things like this. =( Oh well, what's done is done, right? I guess that character is **_**really**_** killed, huh?**

Joanna23 (21 July, 2011) – DHP2...they messed up Snape's death. All I have to say. -_- Awe, Harry and Draco bonding :3 ***~*~*~* Yes...bonding...we'll see if I can get them to "bond" further. As much as I love, love, LOVE this pairing, IDK if I can do it. *sigh* And yes...LOTS of things "messed up" in DHp2, but they can't get it **_**all**_** right, right? It bugs me that they killed Goyle instead of Crabbe, though it's understandable why they had to make that change. I'm going to reread the second half of the book, because there were just some things I remember differently. I've seen the movie twice already…and really do like it, so don't let my bitching fool you. Loved how Harry walked out into the Great Hall and that McGonagall jumped in front of him when Snape brandished his wand, then how she fought him (Snape)…that's not **_**at all**_** how Snape gets chased out of the castle in "The Sacking of Severus Snape"...but, I was fine with that, because the terse conversation between Minerva and Severus in the 6****th**** floor corridor in the book was **_**far **_**less interesting than the dramatic duel they had in the Great Hall in front of everyone in the movie. However, I expected to sob like a baby when Snape was killed...being that Snapey is/was my FAVORITE character in the books/movies (never did I think him bad)...but I didn't. I cried (sniffled really), but it was quite anti-climactic, if you ask me. *sigh* And...when did that boathouse appear? LOL. I don't remember they EVER going there before! Doesn't Snape die in the Shrieking Shack? Grr! And, I didn't at all picture the battle being at night, but...well...McGonagall **_**was**_** in her tartan dressing gown, so I guess it was...or at least started at night. And...I expected to actually **_**SEE**_** Fred die and for Percy to freak out...would have had me **_**crazy**_** sobbing though, so maybe it's good that it wasn't like that. Expected to see more of Lupin and Tonks' death...though, I suppose that's not in the book either. And, when Ron and Hermione kiss...wasn't Harry supposed to BE THERE? Would have liked to see Draco sniveling in front of the Death Eater and Harry saving him...and Ron punching him from underneath Harry's cloak. Hehe. Love, love, LOVED all of Snape's memories! That chapter is one of my favorites of all the books, because the reader FINALLY gets to know WTF happened behind the scenes and in the past. OMG! I can't believe it's over though. *sigh***

And **thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – funky2012, Caly Black, clista99, zazuzarzu, and basketball8974.

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><p><strong>Posted: <strong>27 July, 2011

**Word Count: **1,736

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><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Fifteen**

"**Wards"**

On Sunday morning, Ron Weasley woke up to something alternating between tickling the arch of his bare foot and obnoxiously poking into his ear.

"Geroff, _mum_," he mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed as he yanked his foot under the blankets and pulled his pillow over his head. "I'm having a lie-in. I'll get up soon. Promise."

And then his blankets were roughly ripped from his person, and whatever that was tickling him was now running over the side of his sensitive torso.

"'_Ermione_," Ron whined as he curled up into a ball, his hands attempting to cover up his exposed side. "That tickles. _Stop_."

"Come on, Ronniekins. Get up! I wanna go see Ginny."

Rolling to his back, Ron opened his eyes and blinked. "_George_? What are you _doing_ here?

"Uh-uh. Georgie's the lop-sided _living_ one. I'm just Dead Fred, and _still_ better looking!" the poltergeist said pleasantly. "And I thought we went through this last night...after I witnessed you giving it to Granger. Which was..._disgusting_, I might add." Fred made a show of shuddering—then grinned gaily. "Have to admit...never thought you two were doing the deed."

Ron frowned, then rubbed his eyes with fisted hands. "I...I thought that was a dream."

"Absolutely _not_ a dream," said Fred as he grabbed one of Ron's shirts and tossed it at him. "Get up, get up! I'm bored!"

"'Course you are," Ron grumbled as he pulled the shirt over his head. "Hey. I thought ghosts couldn't touch anything."

"_Not a ghost_!" Fred snapped. Then he frowned. "That is, not like Sir Nicholas or The Bloody Baron." Biting his ghostly lip, Fred blinked, then reached out and poked Ron in the shoulder with his finger. "Spent _all night_ practicing that...but it takes concentration and that's work. I can touch stuff now," Fred said proudly, "but I can't hold things for long."

To demonstrate, Fred reached out and lay a hand on Ron's arm; it stayed there for several seconds, and then the solid feeling of Fred's ghostly hand disintegrated and passed right through Ron's arm.

"That felt...weird."

Fred nodded. "To me as well."

"But not freakishly cold like when the other ghosts—"

"_Not a ghost_!" Fred interrupted loudly, and with frustration.

Ron blinked at his dead brother's abrupt—and out of character—tone. "Right. Sorry, Fred."

Fred shrugged as if it hadn't really bothered him, though it had.

"Wait. How are you sitting on my bed if you're not really...you know...solid?" Ron asked.

And with that, Fred suddenly disappeared—_through_ the bed. "Oomph!" Fred bellowed after thumping to the floor.

Ron was quickly off his bed and looking beneath it. Fred lay sprawled there glaring at him.

"Thanks _a lot_!" Fred snapped as he floated up through the bed again.

"Sorry," Ron said as he stood up again.

Fred shrugged.

"What happened?"

"I told you...takes a lot energy to touch things. But, I guess some stuff is unconscious. I was just...sitting here," Fred said, giving the bed a firm pat. "And then you _mentioned_ that I was sitting on your bed and I _thought_ about it. And then I suddenly found that I _couldn't_ sit on the bed."

Ron frowned. "That's...strange."

"Tell me about it," Fred said with a nod. "That girlfriend of yours was up all night researching poltergeists for me. She really _is_ a smart little witch."

Ron grinned. "Yeah. I know."

"So...Ginny," Fred said as they left Ron's room and headed toward the stairs. Floating beside his brother as they descended the stairs, he grinned evilly. "Let's go scare her."

"That's really not very nice, Fred," Hermione scolded. She was sitting on one of the common room sofas with several books laid out around her. She still appeared to be in study mode—had been all night apparently.

Dropping down beside her, Fred said, "I'm dead, Hermione, I don't have to be nice anymore."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be a pain in the arse either."

Ron snorted. "Nothing's changed there!"

"Regardless, I've taken matters into my own hands and sent owls to everyone, so they already know you're here. I expect we should get to the headmistress' office before the family arrives and starts knocking down doors," she said as she closed her books and gathered them up.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Fred pouted. "Spoil sport!"

From across the room, Blaise chuckled. "Isn't she though? It hasn't even been a week yet and Granger's always foiling my efforts to lighten the mood in here."

Rolling her eyes again, Hermione glanced at the dark-skinned young man and said, "In the interest of House unification, Blaise, I don't believe that some of your ideas of 'mood lightening' are helpful."

Blaise looked at Fred and said, "See?" but he was grinning.

"Hmm. I see your point, Zabini," Fred said. Then, shifting his gaze away from the ex-Slytherin, he went on. "Well, no matter, I _will_ have my fun, Granger."

Hermione, who'd started closing books so that she could put them away, looked up at Ron's brother. "I have no doubt you will, Fred, but it won't be at the expense of our House. And don't think I can't ward our House against you, because that wasn't an idle threat."

Crossing his ghostly arms over his ghostly chest, Fred frowned. "I'm not sure you're _that_ good, Granger."

Standing, Hermione scooped up her books and smirked. "Well then, maybe you should just test me."

Ron groaned.

"Just keep in mind who it was that kept Ron and Harry and me hidden from the Snatchers last year," Hermione said. "That wasn't just luck."

"You _were_ eventually caught," Fred pointed out.

"Only because _I_ got careless and said _Voldemort_," Harry put in as he sauntered through the common room and into the kitchen—presumably for coffee.

Right on his heels, Draco shuddered. "Must you use his name, Potter?"

Harry ignored the blond, but Hermione rolled her eyes—partly because of Malfoy, but mostly because half of those in the room shuddered right along with Harry's roommate. Sure, the Snatchers _had_ nabbed them because Harry'd used Riddle's self-given name, but she still didn't understand everyone's fear of that name. After all, the man was dead..._permanently_ dead! And, as the adage went, _fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself_...and Hermione was done with that.

Her eyes going back to Fred, Hermione smirked. "Haven't seen _Peeves_ around our common room, have you?" she asked pointedly.

Several in the room blinked with surprise, but Fred's eyes widened. "Are you saying that _you're_ responsible for that?"

Hermione shrugged. "Might be," she said vaguely, her face now completely blank. "Would you like to test me?"

With narrowed eyes, Fred cocked his head slightly—then laughed. "Fine then," he said. "When in _this_ House, I will behave. Deal?"

"Uh-uh. No _deal_," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "That's not good enough. I want your promise that you won't harass _any_ of the Eighths...no matter _where_ we are." Quickly, her eyes darted around the room to gage the reactions of those sitting around—Pansy Parkinson, in particular, looked shocked—then they settled back on Fred Weasley. "Our House exists beyond these walls."

"But that's just no fun at all," Fred said with a groan that bordered on whining.

Hermione shrugged. "Deal?"

"And what do _I_ get out of this _deal_?"

"_You_ get to be graciously allowed into our _common room_."

For a few moments, Fred stared at her—and then he said, "You drive a hard bargain, Granger, but...I think I can do that."

"Don't just _think_, Fred, because I won't give you a second chance," she threatened. "If someone so much as complains that _a sock_ is missing, I'll—"

"Oh! Merlin's _beard_, Granger! _All right_!" Fred the Poltergeist hollered. "I've _got_ it! I'll be...civil, at the very least...to your little housemates. Even the Merlin-damned _Slytherin_ ones!"

At this Hermione grinned. "Good then," she said. Then, as she was just about to disappear down the steps to the room she shared with Daphne, she spun around. "Oh. One more thing, Fred. Our individual rooms are off limits."

"_WHAT_?" Fred shrieked. He was now hovering in front of the bushy-haired young woman who was his brother's girlfriend. "That's not FAIR!"

"Fair or not, that's the way it's going to be, Fred," Hermione said as she glared up at her dead friend defiantly. "And, as of one minute ago, they've all been warded...so that we, the living, can have at least _some_ privacy...so don't even _think_ about trying to get in."

Fred pouted—which made Ron laugh as he followed his girlfriend to her room.

**XxXxXxX**

"Was that really necessary?" Ron asked Hermione as he watched her carefully set down and organize the books she'd been studying.

"Of course it was, Ronald," she answered without turning to look at him. "We have to consider _everyone_ in our House, you know...not just us. And you _know_ he'd be all over the ex-Slytherins given the chance. I just...couldn't handle that after everything we've all gone though," she finished with a shrug.

Ron shook his head. "Don't you think you're taking this new House thing a bit far?"

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "Absolutely not.

"But...Fred's just come back," Ron said with a frown. "We haven't seen him in months..._four_ months. Couldn't you just...cut him a little slack?"

Turning, Hermione frowned right back at her boyfriend. "Do you really fancy a repeat of last night? Fred ghosting through the walls and..._watching_ us?" she asked with a shudder.

"Er...no. Suppose not."

"Didn't think so...and neither do I. I had to do _something_ before he starts popping up everywhere. I thought it best to give him boundaries from the start."

"Yeah, I get that," Ron agreed—then he snorted. "Fred's never been very good with boundaries."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me a bit," Hermione said as she slid her arms around her boyfriend and went up on tip toe to kiss him. "Now, you go so I can shower and get dressed, so we can go up to the Headmistress' office."

"Can't I stay?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Umm. No," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "Another time, perhaps...if you behave."

For a second, Ron Weasley pouted—looking very much like his older brother—then he leaned down, kissed his girlfriend's upturned nose, and left the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Hehe. I'm giggling that I used my own last name (Ward) for the title of this chapter. *snicker*


	16. Third Floor Corridor

**Author's Note**

There are a few chunks in this chapter that is quoted material...it's been italicized to differentiate it from dialogue, because I'm not sure how else to do it. It's the part about the Marauder's Map.

Okay...so...not sure if this [story] is worth continuing, but...**thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – Snuggalette, nlas134, Skateyourmum, and kuramanya.

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><p><strong>Posted: <strong>5 August, 2011

**Word Count: **3,097

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><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Sixteen**

"**Third Floor Corridor"**

Harry decided to leave a most probably tearful Weasley reunion to the Weasley clan—and Hermione, because she insisted on going—and instead lazed around drinking his morning coffee and flipping through the Quidditch magazines that someone had left lying on a table in the common room. After a couple hours, several run-throughs of the magazines, and a nap, he drained his fourth cup, then sighed and got up to start his day. Nothing was officially planned, but he figured he should at least shower and dress—then do _something_. It took him all of fifteen minutes to get through his morning toilet and then he was out the door.

"Where you going, Potter?"

The familiarly irritating voice gave Harry pause as he passed through the portal and into the corridor outside their House, but not for long. "Out!" he snapped, wondering why the blond seemed to be constantly dogging his steps. It was bad enough they had to share a room, but now it seemed the other boy was _always there_. "What's it to you, Malfoy?"

"It's _nothing_ to me, Potter. I was merely curious," Draco said as he followed the dark-haired boy out. Frowning, he watched as Potter hurried down the corridor—in the direction he'd not yet had time to explore, though it was clear that Potter had—then closed the portrait door and quickly went after him. "Where _are_ you going?" he repeated, more curious now than he had been.

"I thought we'd just covered that," said Harry as he quickened his step—whether to put distance between himself and the blond or because he was actually in a hurry, he didn't know. No. It was definitely the former, because Harry had no place to be on such a lazy Sunday.

"_No_. You said you were going _out_, but that doesn't really explain _where_ you're going, Potter, now does it?" Draco pushed as they descended a flight of stairs to a smallish landing.

Sighing, Harry halted abruptly and spun around—too suddenly apparently, because Malfoy immediately slammed into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. "Bloody Hell, Malf—"

"Damn it, Potter!" Draco growled as he unconsciously reached out to steady his roommate, then quickly yanked his hands away and took an awkward step backward. "Give a bloke some warning before you just stop like that."

"Yes, I'll just tap my breaks next time," Harry said—then shook his head at the blond's clearly confused look. "Never mind. Muggle reference. Why the fuck are you _following_ me?" Harry demanded.

Draco shrugged. "I'm bored."

"Can't you find someone else to annoy?"

Smirking, Draco shook his head and said, "Oh come now, Potter, you know you're the only one I want to annoy."

Harry snorted at this. "Yeah. Right. Why don't you just...go write your mummy a letter or something," he suggested as he turned and tried to hurry down another staircase...hoping desperately that Malfoy took the hint and left him alone.

Frowning, Draco watched Potter for a second, then continued his pursuit—to annoy Potter or appease he boredom, he wasn't completely sure. "Why? So I can receive a return owl about how dreadful it is sitting at the Manor alone? No thanks."

"_Alone_? Isn't your father there?" Harry asked—though he had no idea why he was asking, because he didn't care one iota.

"Well, yes, he is, but...well...Father's not much company these days and...Mother is...well, she isn't either," Draco said with a shake of his head. Then, with a frown, the blond clamped his mouth shut. He had no intention of explaining the state of things at home. Everyone knew about the Malfoy family's forced house arrest, but not many knew the particulars of it or how poorly his parents were taking it. It had only been three months, but they were, for the most part, prisoners in their own home. They could go outside, but they each wore a detention bracelet that was spelled to prevent them from both leaving their property and using magic of any kind. His father made one attempt to leave the boundaries and it had landed him in bed for a week, a mediwitch from St. Mungo's at his side and an Auror stationed just outside the bedroom door. It was horrid. And that didn't even include the intrusive raids to their home or their frozen bank accounts—which were unfrozen when the raids finally ceased.

But the most difficult part was the loneliness. They had, of course, the house-elves and each other for company, but neither was much help, because they were accustomed to so much more than that. It was the outside human contact they were sorely lacking and desperately needing. Visitors were _technically_ allowed, but any number over three had to be formally requested and approved, _in writing_, before the gathering could take place—not that it mattered much, because there weren't many, other than a very few distant relatives, who were willing to visit them, and it was driving them just a bit mad. More than just a bit, Draco thought as he considered his parents.

Due to the Ministry's constant interference, his father's business dealings had come to a screeching halt, and his mother's once bustling social life was now nonexistent. His father hardly spoke anymore, and when he did it was mostly talk of days past or worse, _nonsense_, and his mother rarely left her rooms, preferring to sit up there alone hoping to receive an owl. Frankly, it was too depressing and, though he felt guilty about it, Draco was relieved to not have to be there. His reprieve, however, would only last until he finished school and then he too would have to serve the remainder of his one-year house arrest sentence.

_Three months completed, nine months of hellish loneliness to go_, Darco thought grimly as he followed Potter. "Never you mind that, _Potter_!" he finally snapped, realizing that thinking about it didn't change anything and telling himself to just _stop_!

"You brought it up," Harry mumbled as he stopped and dug around in a pocket. Finding what he sought, he then reached for his wand and whispered, "_I solemnly swear I am up to no good._"

"Hey. What's _that_, Potter?" Draco asked, instantly shifting his thoughts to what he saw in the other boy's hands.

"Spare bit of parchment," Harry responded as he studied the map.

Leaning over Potter's shoulder, Draco watched as _at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point_ where Harry's _wand had touched_ it. The lines _joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:_

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs  
>Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers<br>are proud to present  
>The Marauder's Map<em>

Realizing it was a map of Hogwarts castle and grounds—and everyone occupying it—Draco's eyes widened with surprise. "Is that..._Filch_?" he asked as he stabbed his finger into the map.

Harry nodded. "_And_ his bloody cat," he said, using his wand to point out Mrs. Norris a short distance from the dot labeled Filch. "We'll have to wait until they clear out...the third floor corridor is still off-limits."

It didn't take long. The cantankerous old man was probably just passing through the corridor in hopes of finding a student to punish, but most students steered clear of that particular floor because they knew he often patrolled there. Harry waited until the caretaker was on one of the moving staircases, then pushed open the painting that lead from where they were to the off-limits corridor and stepped into it. Malfoy followed him.

"Not sure why it's still off-limits...Fluffy's been gone for _years_."

"_Fluffy_?" Malfoy queried.

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Three-headed hellhound...one of Hagrid's lovely pets," he added with a grin.

"Pfft! _Figures_," Malfoy said as he pulled a face. "That oaf—"

"Watch it, Malfoy!" Harry interrupted. "That _oaf_ is my friend."

Rolling his eyes, Draco continued. "Interesting map you have there, Potter. May I see it?" he asked, holding his hand out.

Shrugging, Harry handed it to the other boy, then started down the corridor. "Keep an eye on Filch though, would you? I don't fancy getting detention during the first week of school."

Draco nodded. Neither did he, actually. "So. Where'd you get this?" Draco asked as he unfolded the map to examine it more fully.

"Fred and George gave it to me our third year. Saved my arse a time or two."

"I'll bet."

"Got me into some trouble here and there as well," Harry admitted.

"How so?"

"Snape wasn't so amused when my _spare bit a parchment_ insulted him."

Draco looked up from the map with a frown. "How'd it do that?"

Harry turned and grinned at the blond. "Well, I didn't know at the time. Remus told Snape it was merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who reads it. Found out not much later that that wasn't the case. _That_," he said, poking his finger into the map, "is called the Marauder's Map and you can see what it does."

Draco nodded. "It's pretty brilliant."

Nodding his agreement, Harry grinned. "I think so too...my dad was one of its creators," he said proudly.

Draco snorted. "Seems your father got up to as much mischief as you do," he observed.

Harry chuckled. "So I've been told."

"So," Draco said after a moment of silence. "What'd the map say to Professor Snape?"

"Several things. Let's see...told him he had an _abnormally large nose_."

Draco laughed, his gray eyes sparkling. "Well, _that_ was true."

Harry nodded. "Yep. It also said he was an _ugly git_."

"Cruel, this map of yours," Draco said with a frown.

"That line came from my dad," Harry divulged. "He didn't particularly like Snape."

Draco's brow arched. "Much like his son."

"Snape _did_ give me reason to hate him, you know," Harry huffed out in frustration. "From the beginning that git treated me like I was my dad without even giving me a chance to be my own person."

"Sort of how you snubbed me on our first day of school, huh, Potter? Wouldn't even take my hand," Draco said derisively.

Harry stopped walking and shook his head vehemently. "No way, Malfoy! You _too_ gave me reason for that."

"Pfft. And how'd I do that?" Draco said with a sneer as he folded his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

"One of the first things you did was insult the first and only person who'd ever been nice to me."

Draco frowned as he tried to recall that day in Madam Malkins seven years ago—but then he shrugged. "And who was that?" he finally asked with impatience.

"Hagrid. And you called him a _savage_. You told me that he lived in a hut and—"

"He _does_ live in a hut," Draco interrupted with a smug grin.

"That's irrelevant!" Harry snapped with exasperation. "You also said that he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Draco snickered. "Well...the setting fire to his bed part _might've_ just been rumor, but the rest—"

"And _then_ you prattled on about how only _our kind_ should be allowed to attend Hogwarts. No. Wait. What you meant was _your kind_, but you didn't know who you were talking to at the time."

"The _infamous_ Harry Potter?" Draco sneered.

Harry shook his head. "No. The son of a wizard and a _Muggle-born_ witch...who were both _dead_!" he said, his heart clenching at the mention of his deceased parents. "A boy who knew _nothing_ about a world of magic until that week. I grew up in a Muggle house, with Muggle relatives, not even _knowing_ how my parents died. I was told they died in a car crash, for Merlin's sake."

Draco's eyes widened with shock.

"Yeah," Harry said with a nod, "pretty amazing, huh? I was raised by Muggles who hated magic, and _me_ because of it. I have more reasons to hate Muggles than any pure-blood witch or wizard, Malfoy, but I don't, because...well, it's irrational to hate an entire group of people just because some are mean or evil."

Frowning, Draco opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't because Harry continued.

"'_I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families_,'" the black-haired young man mimicked an eleven-year-old Draco. "You were a horrendously snobbish prat and I couldn't _wait_ to get away from you."

At this Draco blinked. It was almost like he'd been slapped across the face. He knew Potter had no idea how much his words cut, that his roommate believed he had no heart, but it wasn't true. He was, after all, just like everyone else. And just like everyone else, his first instinct was to respond to Potter's words by lashing out. But he didn't do that. Instead, he worked his jaw in an effort to avoid saying something equally cruel, something he knew he'd regret. But Potter wasn't finished.

"And then I met Ron," Harry went on. "Ron was the first person who was my age who truly wanted to be my friend, and _you_ had to come in and insult to him because his family isn't well off like yours. And then there was the way you treated Neville during out first flying lesson...and the _years_ of having to listen to you call Hermione a Mudblood. The list just goes on and on and—"

"All _right_, Potter!" Draco cut in before Potter could list all the things that made him a right bastard. "I get it! I was an arse. What do you want me to say? I was young and stupid."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, Malfoy. I'm just saying that it's hard to be nice to you."

Draco just stared at him.

"And now I'm forced to sleep just _meters_ from you." Harry forced himself not to shudder—though it seemed a natural thing to do—because he knew the things he was saying were hurtful and he didn't like hurting people...even the arrogant git in front of him. But he did glare up at the blond—for a moment. "Of course...I know I'm not perfect either," he finally admitted. "I've done plenty I'm not proud of."

Draco's lips twitched at this. "Surprise, surprise."

Then, rolling his eyes, Harry started walking again. "My dad _was_ pretty cruel to Snape when they were both students here," Harry said after a few strides. "He said and did a lot of horrible things, but that's still no excuse for all the things Snape said and did to me."

It took Draco several moments to focus and realize that Harry had changed to subject back to what they'd been talking about before getting mired in their own personal past.

"The map say anything else to Professor Snape?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Umm. Sirius' message was somewhere along the line that Snape was an _idiot_ and that he wanted to _register his astonishment that he became a professor_."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Nice."

"At the time, I agreed with him."

"Of course you did."

"Do you blame me?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess not. That it?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Wormtail was the fourth and final Marauder. He called Snape a _slimeball_ and told him to _wash his hair_."

Sighing, Draco said, "Like that repulsive rat had room to talk...slimeball-wise."

Harry turned his head and smirked at the blond walking next to him. "I know, right?"

"Who was the first Marauder?"

"Remus."

"So they're all..."

"Dead," Harry finished for him, his forehead bunched with obvious pain. "Yeah."

Draco frowned. "Sorry."

Harry shrugged. "A lot of people are dead now, Malfoy. All we can do is keep them alive in our hearts."

Draco snorted. "You're _such_ a Hufflepuff," he said—then bit his lip and shifted his eyes back to the map to peruse it some more. "Hey look!" Draco started—then stopped and pulled the map close to hide it from his roommate.

"Who'd you see?"

"Umm. Never mind."

Frowning, Harry snatched the map from Malfoy and scanned it, looking for whoever the blond might have been referring to. For a moment he didn't see any names of interest—and then he spotted Ginny's unmoving dot, coupled with another seventh-year student...a Gryffindor boy by the name of Richie Coote.

"Looks like your little girlfriend's found someone else to occupy her time while you two are _taking a break_."

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry snapped. Then, wondering why the blond always felt sarcasm necessary, he tapped the map with his wand and said, "_Mischief managed_."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Draco pushed.

"Doesn't _what_ bother me?" Harry asked...though he knew full well what Malfoy meant.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's she's consorting with others, you dolt!"

"Not particularly. I told you...Ginny and I aren't dating at the moment."

"_So_, she can just...hang out in empty alcoves, doing _Salazar knows what_, with other boys...and you don't care?"

Harry shrugged. "If she wants to...she has every right. And, so can I."

Draco smirked. "Hmm. Interesting."

"What's interesting, Malfoy?"

"You. Hanging out in alcoves...with other boys."

Frowning, Harry glanced back at Malfoy as they stopped in the archway in front of the staircase where Filch had disappeared. "What are you talking about?"

"You. The Chosen One. The _famous_ Harry Potter. Snogging blokes in alcoves."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I've never snogged a bloke, Malfoy."

"_Really_?"

Harry moved his head in such a way that was meant to be a vehement _absolutely not_, but later wondered what Malfoy actually saw.

"Humph. Well, you ought to keep your options open, Potter...since apparently you don't do much snogging period," Draco said as he stepped out onto the staircase just as it started to move and gave a little wave.

Too late to follow, Harry just stood there staring. Then, just as the staircase slammed into place somewhere else on the third floor and Malfoy stepped off of it on the second floor, Harry found his voice. "Oi, Malfoy!"

For just a second Harry thought Malfoy was going to ignore him—but then he turned and glanced back up.

"Have _you_?" Harry asked, his face flushed.

"That's for me to know, Potter," the blond said, then he turned and scampered away.

Harry narrowed his eyes as Malfoy disappeared down another flight of stairs. Then, determined to find out, he whispered, "And for me to find out."

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

Goodness...I don't think I'm _ever_ going to get them through this first week and moving along. This is just _soooo_ dragging! Sorry. *sigh*


	17. Consequ of a Not so friendly Friendly

x-X-x

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

Julia 'Padfoot' Weasley (15 November 2011) – Awww it's like Fred is the house ghost... sorry, 'Poltergeist'! And what's the house going to be called, I'm just interested in the house, bit like Hermione but you know, turned down a notch! :D Love it by the way xx ***~*~*~* I'm so happy you like my story and, like I'm telling everyone else, I'm so sorry about my lack of updates. I guess my mind has been elsewhere these past few months. =( Now, their House name...to be honest, IDK what it's going to be called yet...I'm just trying to get my head back in the game. Any suggestions?**

NeoCortex (4 December 2011) – If no one has told you this yet, I feel that I should. The young man that played Crabbe in the movies was arrested not too long before movie three was to be put into production and they didn't have time to audition for anyone else so they used a different Slytherin character for movie three and started using Blaise Zabini for the rest. You may have already been told this but if not then here it is. ***~*~*~* I think I may have already responded to this review via PM, but I thought I'd respond here as well. Yes, I'm aware of this...still annoys me that the wrong character was killed. Generally, I hate it when actors are changed, but in this case I would have preferred that they hire someone else to play Vincent Crabbe and kill the right person. *sigh* Oh well, over and done with now!**

NeoCortex (4 December 2011) – I am greatly enjoying this story so far. Keep it up. ***~*~*~* Thank you, dear...and sorry about how long it has taken me to ****get back to this****. I guess I just haven't felt like writing it. *sigh***

Lyndsey (27 December 2011) – please update ***~*~*~* Sorry it took so long, but...here you go! =) Thank you for reading!**

And...**thanks** to the following members who have added my story to his/her "favorites" and/or "story alerts" – Albert Scoot, XO-GOLDenEyedWizard-OX, Update Demon, fredsgurl97, The Incredible Klutz, Life's Shadows, ElladoraBlackMalfoy, Lyndsey, and Raven At Night.

**Author's Note**

So, I know it's been _forever_ since I've bothered to add to this fic. All I can say to those who may be reading (but not commenting) is that I'm truly sorry. *sigh*

Okay...end of my babbling and on to **Chapter Seventeen**...

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>19 March, 2012

**Word Count: **5,140

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Seventeen**

"**Consequences of a Not-so-friendly Friendly"**

On Monday just before ten in the morning, after lounging in their common room and breakfasting together in their own dining room, the Eighths' Quidditch players—and their alternates—trudged down to the pitch for a little game of six on six. It was their scheduled practice time and a friendly match wasn't planned, but when it was brought it up at the breakfast table, Harry and Draco merely glanced at one another before nodding enthusiastically.

"This is a _brilliant_ idea," said Harry as they headed out of the castle and toward the Quidditch pitch. "We don't have much time to get ready to face Hufflepuff and I'd like to be ready."

"Pfft! It's _just_ Hufflepuff," Draco said with a derisive snort.

Harry ignored him—but the three former Hufflepuffs in their group didn't.

"_Hey_!" burst Sophie Roper at the same time that Zacharias Smith uttered, "Prat!" under his breath. But Ernie Macmillan was more vocal. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Malfoy?" the young man growled.

Rolling his eyes, Draco glanced at his teammates. "It's a well-established fact that Hufflepuff is easy to beat on the Pitch, Macmillan. Everyone knows it. You might as well admit it too."

"We've won plenty of times, Malfoy," Ernie snarled. "We even beat Harry in third year."

Draco shook his head. "_That_ was five years ago," the blond said loftily, "so it doesn't count. And besides, it _only_ occurred because the Dementors attacked and Potter fell off his broom. _And_ because you had Diggory, who was actually pretty good. In fact, Diggory was the _only_ good part of that team. What happened to him really was a shame."

Many in the group frowned.

"Did you have to bring up Cedric?" Sophie sniffed.

"Yeah, Malfoy," Zacharias said. "Why do you always have to be such a wanker?"

Draco rolled his eyes again. "Pot, kettle, Smith," he said as he gestured between the ex-Hufflepuff and himself. "Pot, kettle."

Scowling, Zacharias quickened his step and hurried off to the changing rooms—followed by most everyone else.

"That really _was_ uncalled for, Draco," Daphne said quietly once they were alone. "They don't ever bring up Diggory...that I've heard anyway."

Draco sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have said that, but...Hufflepuff _is_ shite. We all know it's true. They should face the facts."

Daphne shook her head. "Draco, we have to get along with _everyone_ now. You _have_ to stop antagonizing them at every turn."

"I'm _trying_," the blond said, looking serious.

Rolling her eyes, Daphne said, "No. You're really not, Draco."

Draco frowned. "I _am_."

Daphne shook her head again. "If you mean that, then...try harder."

At this point they'd arrived at the changing rooms, where they split up and headed away from one another. Draco went into the boy's changing room, dressed quickly, then hurried out onto the pitch. No one said anything to him about what he'd said, but he could tell that it wasn't just the three former Hufflepuffs who were upset with him. Daphne had made it clear that she didn't approve of his attitude, and Potter, though he didn't say anything directly, was clearly disappointed in him—not that Draco cared! Draco definitely _didn't_ care. In fact, he didn't give a flying Fwooper what Potter thought!

Some of the others just sort of shook their heads, as if they didn't really expect anything else from him (he was, after all, _evil_), but Morag MacDougal scowled with obvious fury—she was close friends with Cho Chang who'd been dating Cedric Diggory the year he was murdered and she didn't _at all_ appreciate hearing the dead boy's name brought up in such a casual manner—even if Draco _was_ complimenting the boy's Quidditch-playing abilities.

Once on the pitch, all suited up and ready to play, thoughts of Draco's carelessly chosen words were forgotten (for the most part), and the rules were agreed upon. They decided to allow Stooging, which would allow more than one Chaser to enter the scoring area at a time; this was usually a foul, but since there were only two chasers to a team, it seemed like it would spice things up a bit _and_ really put their Keepers to the test. Both Ron and Morag were all for it.

Next, two six-person teams were formed, with Harry captaining one team and Draco captaining the other. Harry picked first and chose Ron as his Keeper, which, because there were only two Keepers among them, meant Draco ended up with Morag—much to her displeasure. Draco then picked Millicent as one of his Beaters, causing Harry to grab Daphne, so that the three ex-Slytherins were spilt up. Draco's eyes narrowed at this; he knew Potter had done that on purpose, so he smirked and chose Lila Malone to prevent his dark-haired co-captain from having all three former Gryffindorks. Harry rolled his eyes and picked Ernie. Draco then chose Michael Corner—which gave Harry the only Beater left; Quincy Rivers. For Harry's final choice, he picked Sophie to complete his six-person team, leaving Draco with a grumbling Zacharias.

"What about our colors?" Quincy queried after everyone situated themselves near their team captains. "If we're all wearing the same thing," he said with a quick gesture at their identical practice uniforms, "it's going to be hard to know who's on whose team."

Several people nodded.

"Good point," Harry agreed, then turned toward Draco. "You choose your colors first, Malfoy, but no blue, green, red, or yellow."

Draco nodded, then transfigured his team's uniform capes to black with purple trim—and Harry followed suit by making his team's capes purple with orange trim.

"All right. We set?" Harry said.

Again everyone nodded.

"Okay then. Let's start out right...no unnecessary roughness," Harry instructed both teams.

At this Millicent scoffed. "Why don't you just worry about _your_ team, Potter, and let Draco take care of ours."

Harry frowned. "I _am_ worrying about _our_ team, Bulstrode," he snapped. "This is just a friendly match. It's supposed to be for fun and _practice_, and to see how well we can play together before the real matches start. If we act like two separate teams, then I don't see how we're ever going to fair well against the other four teams. And, we can't afford to lose any of us due to practice injuries."

Several people were nodding.

"Potter's right, Mill," Daphne said. "We need to get along."

Millicent scowled. "First the Mudbl...I mean, _Granger_," she corrected when she heard a rumbling sound coming from Ron's throat, "and now Potter! What's this place coming to?" Turning, the black-haired young woman grabbed her Bludger bat and pushed off into the air.

Everyone watched her go, then looked back at their two captains—causing Harry to glance at his blond co-captain. "We're agreed, right Malfoy?" he said. "We'll keep it clean?"

Draco tilted his head to make it appear that he was considering the idea, then shrugged and nodded. "I can do it, if you can, Potter," he challenged.

"Right," Harry said. "Let's play then."

Harry waited until everyone else as up in the air—both Keepers at opposite ends of the pitch—before releasing the iron Bludgers. Next, he tossed the Quaffle up, and then, not watching where the red, leather-covered ball went or which team managed to grab it, he quickly freed the Golden Snitch and jumped onto his own broom. By the time he rose up to the level of everyone else, all hell had already broken loose—and he _just_ managed to avoid the Bludger that had obviously come from Millicent's bat.

"Oops. Sorry Potter," the woman called out with false sweetness. "I didn't see you there."

Harry glared at her, then, catching a glimpse of the Snitch over her shoulder, he took off straight at her—causing the young woman to have to scramble out of his way, because it _looked_ like he was coming after her—with Draco on his tail. And, while the two Seekers raced around the pitch trying to catch the elusive Golden Snitch before the other—and Cobbing one another like crazy—Daphne and Sophie managed to score once each for Harry's team and Lila scored twice for Draco's team (infuriating Ron), making the score an even twenty/twenty.

Again Millicent sent a Bludger into the fray, this time narrowly missing a still-ranting Ron and allowing Lila to score yet again, which caused Ron's face to go almost scarlet. But then Millicent made the mistake of sending a Bludger at Sophie...angering Ernie, who nearly took the dark-haired woman's head off by sending one of the black iron balls back at her.

"Try that again, Bulstrode, and I _won't_ miss!" Ernie Macmillan threatened.

Rolling away, Millicent dodged the well-bashed ball, but in the process the ex-Hufflepuff had managed to almost unseat her. Righting herself, she glared at the young man, then glanced at Daphne, who'd flown up beside her.

"It's just practice, Mill," the blonde said. "Why are you playing so hard?"

"This is _ridiculous_!" Millicent snarled. "Why is she making us play with _them_?" She was referring to the Headmistress and the fact that the ex-Slytherins were being forced to live and work with the students from the other four houses. "Doesn't she know we hate each other?"

Daphne sighed. "_I_ don't hate them."

"Of course you don't!" Millicent snapped. "You sure shed your skin in a hurry, Daph."

Daphne shook her head. "It's not like that. This is the only way we're going to make it through the year and...they're really not so bad."

Millicent snorted. "That's just bullshi—"

"Stop fraternizing with the enemy, Millicent!" Draco barked from behind—then proceeded to fly between them, smirking back at his two friends as he flew away.

"Right! As soon as _you_ stop fucking with Potter!" Millicent hollered after her blond team captain—who was now back to chasing the Snitch (and Potter) around the pitch.

In the meantime, Sophie was able to score, but got herself trapped between Zacharias and Lila when she attempted to score again. During the contact, Lila managed to wrestle the Quaffle away from her and tossed it to Zacharias, who then circled around and threw it right by Ron and into the center hoop. Seeing this, Daphne moved to accept the Quaffle from Sophie, who'd gotten it from Ron (after the score), then raced down the pitch and hammered it at Morag. Morag skillfully deflected the Quaffle, preventing the score, but Sophie caught it, tossed it back to Daphne, who then sent it successfully by the Keeper and through the left hoop. At the other end of the pitch Ron whooped with joy.

However, considering Ron's obnoxiously cheerful noises to be _completely_ unnecessary, Millicent sent Michael Corner a look, which communicated her frustration and caused the former Ravenclaw to follow his new teammate. Together they moved down the pitch and, while most everyone else was focused on the Quaffle at the _other_ end, used the Dopplebeater Defense to clobber a Bludger straight at Ron. Ron managed to avoid the double-hit ball by feigning to the left, then shifting to the right, but found himself dangling from his broom handle several meters from the ground. Glancing down, the redhead decided it would be easier to just drop down into the sand below him. Landing nimbly, he grabbed his broom as it fell without his magic to keep it in the air, then threw a leg over it and took off again.

But, while the hoops were undefended, Zacharias scored again, sending Ron into another rage. Recovering the Quaffle after the score, Ron pitched it to Daphne, then looked around for Harry. When he didn't immediately see him—or Malfoy—he assumed they were busy and searched for his beaters.

"Ernie!" he shouted at the other young man. "Give yer bat here!"

Ernie hardly blinked at the command and handed it over—and Ron sent the next Bludger right at Millicent Bulstrode, whacking her right wrist and most probably shattering a bone or two.

"Take _that_, bitch!" Ron yelled triumphantly as he handed Ernie's Bludger bat back to him, then watched as the black-haired young woman struggled to regain her balance on her broom. It only took a moment for her to prop her broken limb on the forearm of the one that controlled her broom, then she turned and sneered at the purple team's Keeper, hardly blinking at the pain.

"You'll have to do better than that, Weasel!" she snarled—and then it didn't matter anymore because Draco caught the Snitch!

**XxXxXxX**

"You're a _complete_ twat, Weasley!" Millicent snapped as both practice teams left the pitch and tromped off toward the changing rooms. She was now cradling her broken arm against her chest, grimacing in pain (now that her adrenaline wasn't flowing so fiercely), and glaring daggers at the red-haired Keeper—after first using her good hand to shove her broom into the young man's hands, letting the larger end whack him in the face as she did so. "I don't know how the Gryffindorks put up with your barbaric ways for so long!"

"What are you _talking_ about, Bulstrode, you bashed the bloody thing at me first!" Ron all but yelled. "Not to mention those you tried to clobber _prior_ to me. First Harry and me, then you nearly took out Sophie. Then _me_ again! You deserved what you got, you stupid bint!"

"_Ron_," Harry started warningly—at the same time that Draco said, "Watch it, Wealsey!"

"What? It's _true_. She started it!" Ron exclaimed angrily, his words directed at his friend. Then, to the blond, he said, "And you mind your own bloody business, Malfoy! I wasn't talking to you!"

Draco's brows shot up. "Not my business? I'm sorry, but I thought we were supposed to be _housemates_," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Silly me."

"Yeah, well, like I said, _she_ started it!" Ron growled.

"What are you..._twelve_?" Draco asked. "Grow up, Weasley!"

"Pfft!" Ron snorted. "That's rich, coming from you...the Death Eater!"

Unconsciously rubbing his left forearm, Draco paled—but he didn't have a chance to reply because Harry did. "That's enough, Ron!"

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Daphne was able to speak first. "Come on, guys, can't we all just...get along?"

"_NO_!" Draco, Millicent, and Ron all snapped in unison.

This made several people roll their eyes.

"Oh, for _Merlin's_ sake!" the pretty blonde burst with exasperation. "For _all_ our sakes...cut the crap! Don't you remember what the headmistress said less than a week ago? _No displays of immaturity_. Remember? We're _supposed to be_ behaving like adults...treating each other like family and all that. _You three_ are acting like children and I want it to stop _this instant_!" she commanded—somewhat loudly.

Both Draco and Millicent frowned, because Daphne tended to be a little more quiet and reserved, but Ron was more verbal about what he thought. "And what _I_ want is for _you_ to just shut it, Greengrass!" he bellowed.

"Stop it, Ron!" Harry said before anyone else could explode—because he'd seen Malfoy getting ready to. "Daphne's right."

At this Daphne blushed and Draco appeared to be pacified by his roommate's support of an ex-Slytherin—and then they were interrupted by an outsider.

"What _exactly_ is going on here?" came the person's voice.

Turning, they all saw Madam Hooch standing there, hands on hips, eyeing the lot of them suspiciously, with a group of ogling first years—each carrying a broom—behind her. They'd obviously just come out of the storage shed, ready for their first flying lesson, and they were all quite interested in what was going on with the Eighths.

"Um...er...we...ahh," Ron stammered.

"Ever so eloquent, Ronald," Draco drawled as he pretended to inspect his fingernails.

"Just a friendly, Madam Hooch," Millicent purred with syrupy sweetness.

Narrowing her yellow, hawk-like eyes, the gray-haired woman gave them a cursory glance, then began to herd her first-years out. "What are _you all_ waiting for?" she barked at her younger students. "Take your broomstick and get moving!" she commanded—then to the others she said, "Someone needs to take Miss Bulstrode up to the hospital wing. That doesn't look _at all_ good."

"Doesn't _feel_ good either," Millicent growled, sending a glare at Ron.

Catching the look, Madam Hooch looked at Ron and nodded. "I don't know what's going on here, but you Eighths are being given significantly more freedom than anyone else in the school; I sure hope you're not taking advantage."

"Oh no, of course not, Madam Hooch," Ron said with a shake of his head. "We just had a...friendly."

"_Suck up_!" Draco uttered sotto voce.

Ignoring the blond's words, Madam Hooch narrowed her eyes again. "Be that as it may, Mr. Weasley, I'd like _you_ to be the one to take Miss Bulstrode up to the hospital wing."

"M-_me_?" Ron sputtered.

The older woman nodded. "Yes, you!"

"Why _me_?" Ron pushed.

"Because, though I may not be privy to the particulars of this...incident," she said, her eyes going from the tall redhead, to the bulky young woman with the broken limb, and then back to the young man, "I'm quite capable of reading between the lines. There's _clearly_ something going on here and I'd be willing to wager that _you_ caused Miss Bulstrode's injury."

"_Not without provocation_," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Weasley?" the woman asked.

"Um. Nothing, Professor," Ron said.

Madam Hooch nodded. "That's what I thought! I'll expect you to stay with Miss Bulstrode during her stay in the hospital wing, Mr. Weasley," she said as she turned away from the group.

Ron frowned, but responded appropriately. "Yes, Madam Hooch," he said.

"And I think it only right that you carry Miss Bulstrode's books until that wrist of hers is fully functional and she's no longer experiencing any pain," the woman added after only a few steps.

"Of course, Professor," Ron said, causing several to snicker.

Madam Hooch narrowed her eyes at the young man, then eyed the group. "Now, be off with you before I change my mind and deduct points."

Everyone nodded and dispersed, their destination being the changing rooms—while Ron and Millicent marched off toward the castle, both in a huff and bickering the entire way.

**XxXxXxX**

"How was practice?" Hermione asked Daphne as the two of them sat down side by side in Advanced Ancient Runes and started unloading their packs.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Hmm. Could have been better...if your boyfriend hadn't decided to break Millicent's arm."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. "_What_? How? What happened?"

"Well, to be completely honest, Mill deserved it," Daphne admitted. "She's still not overly pleased about this year's living arrangements and...sort of took it out on the team. She really _is_ a good Beater."

"I see," Hermione said with a stiff nod. "And so, how _exactly_ did that result in Ron breaking her arm?"

Daphne sighed. "Ron sort of took Ernie's bat and bashed a Bludger at her."

Hermione frowned. "That wasn't very nice of him?"

"Hmm. No, it wasn't," the blonde agreed—but then she grinned. "Madam Hooch made him walk Millicent up to the hospital wing though...in place of deducting points."

Hermione chuckled. "Bet he liked that one."

"Not _at all_," Daphne said with a shake of her head. "You should have seen his face. Of course, Millie wasn't too happy about it either."

"Pfft! I'll bet."

"She just wanted to get as far away from him as possible...and then wasn't able to after they were ordered up to the hospital wing together."

Both girls laughed at that.

"I suspect she'll make every attempt to get back at him for this one though," Daphne continued. "Madam Hooch _also_ ordered him to carry Mill's books around until her wrist no longer pains her. My guess is that she'll drag it out."

Hermione immediately thought of the time Malfoy had been injured by Buckbeak, and how he'd drawn that injury out for weeks. "Oh no, Ron'll go spare. I hope he doesn't explode."

"Has a bit of a temper, that one," Daphne said with a snort.

"Who has a temper?" came another voice.

The two seated eighths glanced up at the newcomer. "Your brother," Hermione said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's _not_ news to me," she said as she pulled out her stool—at the table behind Hermione and Daphne—and sat down. "So, what'd he do?" she asked, sounding quite bored.

"Broke Millicent's arm," Daphne informed the redhead.

Ginny's eyes widened.

"Hit a Bludger right at her, apparently," Hermione added.

"Though, like I told Hermione here, Mill deserved it; she spent the entire practice attempting to remove everyone's heads by wildly hitting Bludgers around the pitch. She's not settling into our new House very well," the blonde admitted.

Ginny snorted. "Can't say I blame her. The situation sucks!" she said—then frowned at the former Slytherin beside her friend. "Um. That wasn't very nice of me. Sorry."

"No worries, Weasley. I understand," Daphne said with a shrug as she turned and let her eyes focus on the front board. "What is the _deal_ with our professors this year?" she complained. "I like you, Granger, but are we going to be attached at the hip in every class as well as in our dormitory?"

Hermione chuckled at her new friend's blunt change in demeanor. "They do seem to be quite obsessed with alphabetically order this year, don't they?" she said, then looked at Ginny again. "Hmm. Looks like it's your lucky day, Gin."

Ginny frowned. "How do you mean?"

Hermione tilted her head toward the door. "It appears you get to sit next Zabini this year."

Grimacing, Ginny glanced at the door to find Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy sauntering in—laughing raucously. Turning her eyes back to her friend, she shuddered. "Oh joy. That's just..._brilliant_!"

"Weaslette," Draco said with a nod in Ginny's direction as he pulled out his stool and settled upon it—causing Hermione's jaw to drop in surprise.

"Hey, youngest Weasley," Blaise purred as he slid onto the stool next to the red-haired girl.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Piss off, Zabini!" she snapped. "You're such a twat."

Blaise grinned. "_Feisty_!"

Ignoring his friend and Potter's girl, Draco smirked at Hermione. "Oh, _close your mouth_, Granger," he said. "The Weaslette and I have come to an understanding. Isn't that right?" he asked, his eyes shifting over to the other girl.

"Don't push it, Malfoy," Ginny ground out. "I still don't like you."

Draco snorted a laugh, then started pulling his things from his pack. "Whatever you say, Weaslette."

"Humph! _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Blaise continued, his eyes still on the girl next to him.

Ginny ignored him. _He's not worth it_, she told herself.

"I guess you miss Potter's presence in your common room more than you thought you would, huh?" Blaise pushed.

Ginny bristled, but still didn't comment. _He's not worth it_, she silently repeated.

Leaning in close—close enough to bump her shoulder with his—the ex-Slytherin lowered his voice so only the girl next to him could hear his words. "Or is it that you miss him in your bed, red?" he taunted.

"Don't call me that!" Ginny growled.

"Hmm. Interesting that you're more concerned about what I _called_ you than what I implied."

Frowning, Ginny began a litany in her head. _Not worth it...not worth it...so _very_ not worth it_!

"So, that's it, isn't it?" Blaise goaded. "You miss the little savior in your—"

Eyes narrowing, Ginny turned and gave the older boy a shove, then slugged him in the shoulder. "I said _piss off_, Zabini!" she hissed. "What I miss, or don't miss, is none of _your_ bloody business!"

Rubbing the place he'd been struck, Blaise grinned. "You pack quite a wallop, _Weaslette_. I guess that's to be expected with all those older brothers."

This caused Ginny to pull back her fist again—in turn causing Blaise to raise both hands in defeat.

"All right, _all right_. I give," the dark-skinned boy said playfully. "Just trying to offer some conversation."

"Pfft!" Ginny scoffed. _Sure_."

Chuckling, Blaise opened his mouth to comment further, but someone else spoke first.

"All right now. Let's all settle down," Professor Babbling called out as she entered the classroom filled with chattering students. "Time to get started. I have a start-of-the-term placement test for you all to take."

Several students groaned; no one liked tests.

"Now, now," the professor said, "it's the best way to see where you all stand. I'd like to divide you into two groups, based on knowledge."

Hermione's hand shot up. "Excuse me, Professor, but...but couldn't you just look at our marks from last term?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, I _could_ do that, but some of you weren't here last year," the older woman said, glancing at those who'd been absent the previous year. "And those of you who _were_ here, were fairly distracted...by the events that kept us all busy."

Hermione frowned. _That's certainly true_, she thought.

Smiling, Professor Babbling went on. "Besides, I don't recall you ever objecting to a test in the past, Miss Granger."

The room erupted with laughter.

"Hah! She's got you there, Granger," Blaise bellowed.

"Well, no," Hermione said, her face flushed. "I just...wanted to get started."

"Of course you did," Draco put in—making everyone laugh again.

"Stuff it, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, glaring over at the blond.

"_Oooo_, better watch out, Draco," a seventh-year Slytherin girl in the front row said. "The Mudblood looks upset."

Draco frowned. "I don't believe I was speaking to you, Margerite," he growled at the younger sister of Marcus Flint.

The girl blushed and gave her long dark hair a little flip. "It's official, Ivy," she said as she glanced back at her housemate, "Draco's no longer one of us."

Draco rolled his eyes, but ignored the two girls otherwise.

"_Okay then_," Professor Babbling drawled. "Now that _that's_ over, let me just remind everyone that I will tolerate _no_ altercations in my classroom...and that _includes_ name-calling." Professor Babbling looked pointedly at the two seventh-year Slytherin girls, then at each and every other student in turn. "The war's over, people!" she said as she finished passing out the test and quickly returned to the front of the room. "So. The test. Shouldn't be too difficult. You're all very bright. I just want to see what you've all retained. It's part multiple choice, part true or false. What are Runes? Where are they found? What are the mythical connections? There are a few questions about the Runic alphabet. You'll need to be able to define Wyrd. Know a little about Ogham divination and how Runes link to astrology and numerology. It's just a little of this and a little of that. Just the basics, people," she and. "And when you're finished, place your test on my desk and you are excused." Giving her students one last look, she said, "You may begin."

**XxXxXxX**

Still dressed in their Quidditch practice clothing, Millicent and Ron silently marched through the castle and up to the third-floor hospital wing. When they got there they stopped at the double doors, waiting for the other to open the door. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Ron reached out and pushed them open for the injured young woman.

"Why thank you, Weasley," Millicent said as she breezed into the room. "How very gentlemanly of you."

Snorting, Ron said something unintelligible under his breath, but Millicent didn't respond.

"What do we have here?" Madam Pomfrey queried as the pair walked quickly through the room and up to her desk at the far end. Putting down her quill, the healer looked them both over, then pursed her lips. "Ahh, another Quidditch accident, I see."

"_Accident, my foot_," Millicent grumbled, sending a glare at Ron.

"Dangerous sport, Quidditch is," Madam Pomfrey went on, ignoring the young woman's words. Instead, she pointed at a chair. "Sit there, dear. Let's have a look."

Millicent immediately dropped into the indicated chair and gingerly pulled her broken limb from its place against her chest to allow the healer to mend it.

Gently, Madam Pomfrey inspected Millicent's broken wrist, then shook her head. "I treat more students for Quidditch injuries than anything else combined; if it were up to me, I'd have that blasted sport banned," she raged.

Neither Ron, nor Millicent said anything.

"Mr. Weasley, I would like you to assist," the stern woman said, making a beckoning motion with her hand so that Ron would know she wanted him to come closer.

"_What_?" Ron burst, looking quite upset.

"Oh, Mr. Weasley!" she snapped impatiently, obviously frustrated as she pulled out her wand. "I think I was quite clear. Come here and help me!"

Immediately moving forward—though sluggishly—Ron glanced at Millicent; she looked just as worried as he did. "Er...um...what do you want me to do?" he asked worriedly.

"Just take Miss Bulstrode's arm like this," she said, demonstrating. "Yes, _just_ like that. That's perfect," she said with a nod. "Now, support it while I... _Episkey!_" she said quickly, with an elaborate swish of her wand. "Very good. All finished."

Stowing her wand swiftly, Madam Pomfrey re-examined her patient's limb, then looked into the young woman's dark eyes. "There may be some residual aching, dear, but it should fade in a few days."

Millicent nodded. "Thank you."

"And I suggest that you baby yourself a bit," instructed Madam Pomfrey. "Or, the wrist at least."

Millicent nodded again. "Yes, ma'am," she said as she stood up to leave.

"And, I must insist on _no_ Quidditch for a week."

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it," Millicent said with another nod.

Ron snorted, drawing Madam Pomfrey's attention.

"Perhaps Mr. Weasley will be kind enough to assist you until you're completely healed," the healer said.

"He's already offered," Millicent said with a smirk.

"Oh. Splendid," said Madam Pomfrey. "Well, off with you both. Seems the two of you will need to change before heading on to class."

Both giving a clipped nod, Ron and Millicent turned and hurried off—bickering all the way back down to the Quidditch changing rooms.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

I hope you can forgive the typos...I simply could not reread this one more time. However, I'd like to know if you found them (errors and typos, I mean), because they just MUST be fixed. Thank you!

**Vocabulary**

**Fwooper** – African bird with brightly-colored feathers. A Fwooper's song will drive the listener insane, so each bird must be sold with a Silencing Charm on it (FB).

**Stooging** – More than one Chaser entering the scoring area _(Chasers only)_. I did not make this up...this is Quidditch foul #10.

**Cobbing** – Excessive use of elbows towards opponents _(All players)_. This is Quidditch foul #5.

**Dopplebeater Defence** - Both Beaters strike a Bludger at the same time, to double the force behind a swing. This is a legal Quidditch tactic and it wasn't invented by me.


	18. DADADA Defined & What's Fair

x-X-x

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

Mrs Yaya (22 April, 2012) – I just finished your story and throughly enjoyed it. I liked the idea of another house for the returning students. I like the house name to be "The Founders" as every house is represented. You having Fred come back like peeves was ingenious. It the two of them got together to do pranks the school will be in deep trouble. I do hope that Draco and Harry do not hook up. I do wish to see himwith someone other than Jinny such as Daphne. Draco can find anyone else for that matter as he is such a git. ******* Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your kind words. I'll definitely consider your house name ("The Founders")...I like it! I'm not sure how much Fred (and George will be part of the rest of the fic)...or how often I'll be able to update...I've been sort of busy with other things lately (see A/N). As for Harry and Draco...you should probably stop reading now, I guess, because I am setting this up to be Drarry. I wasn't sure if I could get it there in the beginning, so I only put Harry's name...but I've already got what I call "future chapters" started where they're spending a lot of time together. I don't know what it is about Harry and Draco being together that's so yummy to me (and lots of people), because Draco IS a total arse! But there's something. I guess it's fun to write his snarkiness and combine that with Harry's semi-cluelessness. *sigh* So...yeah...I'm sorry to disappoint you. =(**

SmudgedPenguin (24 April, 2012) – Hey! I have really enjoyed your story so far, please continue it! ******* Thank you so much and...here you go!**

Mazabm (21 June, 2012) – This is so awesome! I love this story. Draco and Harry are great. I like Ginny . . . Whih was shocking. . . This idea is really good and I hope you update. Please update! ******* Hmm. I'm not 100% sure I understand what you're saying (did you mean, while it was shocking…?), but thank you so much for the positive review...and, here's your update! =)**

**Author's Note**

Another long FOREVER since I've posted. Sorry. =( I have to admit that I've been distracted by other things...you can all blame **mechanical_rain** for getting me hooked on 1D. Disgusting, I know, for a woman _my_ age to be turned into a fangirl. *sigh*

Okay...end of my babbling and on to **Chapter Eighteen**...

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>1 July, 2012

**Word Count: **4,715

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Eighteen**

"**DA/DADA Defined & What's Fair"**

Tuesday morning's schedule started with DA—which, given the previous year, everyone agreed (nervously) _had_ to stand for "Dark Arts"—and _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts, so most were shuffling their feet a bit on their way down to breakfast—as if that would slow time and prevent them from having to go to class. Though not all of them had been present the year before, not one of them had any desire to attend this particular class—not after the events that had taken place and how most of the students were treated by Professor Carrow. Amycus Carrow, who now sat rotting away in Azkaban prison for his crimes—along with his sister—had completely abused his power while teaching the subject, forcing his students to use Unforgivables on one another. It had been horrendous!

Not even Harry, who was normally perfectly happy to attend Defense—since it was his best subject—wanted to go. He was eating more slowly than most, as if he sensed there would be something bad about their morning class. He could just _imagine_ all the terrible things they were going to be forced to do to each other and he wasn't looking forward to it at all. And it was double DA/DADA too!

Pushing his food around more than actually consuming it, Harry finally gave up on the pretense of eating and put his fork down, then leaned forward and looked down the eighth-year tables at his housemates. Except for a few girls, who were chatting quietly on the opposite side of the girls' table, _everyone_ was eating mostly in silence, clearly morose at the prospect of attending their morning class.

Well, not _everyone_. The rest of the Great Hall seemed perfectly normal; all the other years were boisterously enjoying their morning meal, as if they didn't have a care in the world. Technically, they didn't. Voldemort was dead and gone and all they had to do now was attend their classes, pass their O.W.L.s and/or N.E.W.T.s, and go out into the world as productive witches and wizards. Simple, right? So why didn't it seem to be—not to Harry anyway.

Sooner than he would have liked, the bell rang, causing all the people who were still left in the Great Hall to finish whatever they were doing—most were long-finished with their meals—and head for the massive double doors that would take them out and to their many classrooms. The Eighths were no exception. Slowly made their way from the room and up to the seventh floor—where they were told they'd be attending Defense for the duration of the year.

When the group reached the seventh floor, where the Room of Requirement was located, they stopped in front of their former Transfiguration professor. Headmistress McGonagall was standing in the middle of the corridor—the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance the ballet on one side of her, and a large wooden door on the other—waiting, somewhat impatiently, for them all to arrive and look at her. When they did, she began without preamble.

"Good morning," she said sternly, then turned and pushed the door open, leading them into the room. "As most of you now know, this is the Room of Requirement, and this is where you will be taking Defense this year."

Everyone looked around, but no one commented—but only for a millisecond.

"Excuse me, Headmistress," one student said, her hand high in the air. This caused several people to roll their eyes.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" the older woman asked, looking somewhat annoyed by the interruption.

"We're taking Defense Against the Dark Arts in _here_?"

"That is correct," the headmistress said, her tone curt, then tried to continue. "For those of you who don't know, this room can produce whatever is required...hence its name, the Room of—"

"But, _why_?" Hermione interrupted.

The Headmistress took an exasperated breath as she narrowed her eyes at Hogwarts' brightest student of the century. "Why _what_, Miss Granger?"

"Why are we taking Defense in _here_ and...who will be teaching us?" the bushy-haired young woman asked, because she'd noticed there wasn't a professor present—other than the headmistress, who'd made it clear that she'd not be teaching any classes this year. "And, are we truly going to be studying the _Dark Arts_?"

Glancing around at all the nervous faces, Headmistress McGonagall frowned—then realized what was going on; the Eighths had visions of Amycus Carrow running through their heads.

"Oh no...you misunderstand," said the older woman. "If you will let me finish, everything will be made quite clear." Pausing for a moment to take in all the nods—and relieved looks—McGonagall then continued. "First, only a portion of your class will take place in the Room of Requirement. You will come _here_ to work on defensive spells, but you will study _theoretical_ knowledge on your own; that is, outside of class. Once a week, you will write and turn in an essay that breaks down and summarizes whichever chapter you have been assigned in class. It doesn't have to be long, but each student's essay had _better be_ his or her own work," the older woman said, her eyes raking over the room.

Several people nodded their understanding—including Ron, who seemed to realize that he'd not be able to talk Hermione into helping him. She, at least, looked pleased.

"Further," the older witch went on, "you will each be expected to organize a lecture and present it, for one class period, to your classmates, _and_ to a panel of observers who will evaluate your preparedness, your overall understanding of your chosen topic, your ability to teach, and your peers' understanding of the material. Essentially, you will each become an expert in one area."

Hermione smiled with excitement, but most people looked rather nervous.

"You...you expect _us_ to teach?" Ron said as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Precisely, Mr. Weasley," the headmistress confirmed. "And I believe that, with your background, this shouldn't be too difficult an assignment."

"But...what about the rest of us?" another student blurted almost frantically. "_I've_ never had _any_ desire to teach, Headmistress."

"I am sure you'll do fine, Miss Bulstrode," said McGonagall, her glasses perched on the end of her nose as she turned and scanned the group. "Most of you have been _more than_ proficient at Defense, as well as the rest of your courses, so I don't expect this assignment is really anything to fret about. You will find that you will learn far more from teaching than from being taught, as you will be forced to know _your_ topic inside and out.

"And you can help each other...work together to decide which topic suits each of you best. You might even try grouping together on a larger topic, then splitting it up into sections to teach in related parts. That is entirely up to you. I don't expect anyone to take on something utterly distasteful, so don't choose a topic of which you are leery. But I would like to see what each of you can do, so please do push the envelope and your own personal comfort zone. And, you'll only be required to teach theory, but it'll somehow need to be made interesting. You all know how boring it is to sit there while a professor drones on and on."

Everyone nodded.

"About that, Headmistress...you think Professor Binns will be here teaching forever," Ron asked—causing most everyone to laugh.

Pursing her lips to hide a smile, the older witch nodded. "I dare say he'll be at Hogwarts longer than any of us, Mr. Weasley."

Several students tittered.

"Now, you have quite a bit of time before your student lectures will begin," McGonagall continued. "As there are only twenty of you, they won't begin until the twelfth of January, but you'll only have until the end of _this_ month to turn in a proposal."

"But that's only three weeks!" a dark-haired young woman complained.

"Yes, Miss Parkinson," the headmistress said with a nod, "so you'll have to put your heads together and make some decisions. Take a week or two to peruse your text and talk to your classmates about what he or she would like to cover, then pick something you think you would enjoy and become an expert. This really won't be as difficult as you think it will be."

The older woman received many distressed looks, but they nodded all the same.

"So, Headmistress," Hermione said, her hand in the air again, "we will study theory on our own time and be expected to teach for one class period?"

"That is correct, dear," the old witch said.

"And we'll meet in here for...what exactly?" Hermione persisted.

"Well, as you know, theory isn't everything," the woman semi-explained. "We wouldn't want to have a repeat of Professor Umbridge's Defense Against the Dark Arts, now would we?"

Most students shook their heads, but not all.

"And our professor?" Harry asked quietly—because he had a bad feeling about this.

"Interesting that you should ask, Mr. Potter," the headmistress said, "because it is _you_ who are going to be running the class."

"_Me_?" Harry said with shock. "Why _me_?"

"Because Defense is your forte, Mr. Potter," the woman answered. "And because you started Dumbledore's Army."

Harry frowned. "Um. Not really. I mean...I _did_ do most of the teaching, but—"

"Precisely, Mr. Potter! And so you will be teaching your fellow returning seventh-years what they need to know to pass the practical portion of their N.E.W.T.s," McGonagall instructed.

"So, we _won't_ be learning the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked, still in need of confirmation.

"No, Miss Granger, you will not. DA stands for Dumbledore's Army, not Dark Arts."

A collective sigh went around the room—even from those who'd not participated in Dumbledore's Army.

"However," the headmistress continued, "I expect each and every one of you to understand more than just the basics of the Dark Arts...which means you will have to gain some book knowledge. Your weekly papers will consist mostly of this. Is this clear?"

The group nodded.

"Great then!" the ex-professor said. "Well, that puts an end to my involvement in your day. I must be off to a meeting. Have a pleasant morning, students."

And with that she breezed out of the room, leaving the twenty Eighths staring after her.

"Fantastic! _Still_ the center of attention, Potter!" Draco Malfoy complained once the heavy wooden door closed tight behind the old witch. "Why am I not surprised?"

**XxXxXxX**

After Defense Against the Dark Arts came lunch, then Transfiguration (with the eerily strange brother and sister professors) and Charms—and then they were treated to another hour and a half in Muggle Studies (and the other shite that had been added to it) with Professor Mitchell. The woman was interesting, to say the least, but a bit on the odd side too. Bloody American!

So, in they walked—to find no professor waiting for them.

"Are we expected to just sit here waiting for the rest of the day?" Pansy bitched from where she sat perched on the edge of the desk she was sharing with Sophie Roper. "I mean, _I_ for one, have more important things to do."

"Like what, Parkinson, file your fingernails into razor-sharp claws?" Ron asked.

Pansy narrowed her dark eyes at the redhead and said, "_No_, Weasley, unlike _some_ people, I'm not violent by nature."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Ron.

"Well, I'm not the one who _intentionally_ hit a Bludger right into a team member, hmm? _That_ violent person was _you_!"

"That wasn't _exactly_ on purpose," Ron said, his face red. But, while he said it, his eyes went to Millicent—who sat beside her chattering roommate, Lavender—and he watched as she awkwardly rummaged around in her pack with her one good hand, because her other arm wasn't completely healed from the day before. "Do you need help with that, Bulstrode?" he finally asked the injured young woman.

Without even sparing him a glance, Millicent shook her head. "Not necessary, Weasley!" she snapped.

Ron frowned as he shifted his gaze to Hermione—who shrugged, but smiled at him encouragingly.

"I guess I dressed all Muggle for nothing!" Draco gripped with an annoyed look down at the shirt and denims he'd borrowed from _his_ roommate.

Pansy's initial reaction was to snicker—because it was hilarious to her to see Draco wearing garments that didn't belong to him—but quickly turned and looked her friend over. "Actually, Draco, I think you look _hot_ in Potter's clothes," she said seriously.

Draco just scowled at her, but had to admit, if only to himself, that he _did_ look rather delicious in the other man's clothing—_perfect_, according to Potter. During their lunch break his messy-haired roommate had grudgingly let him pilfer through his wardrobe and Draco was surprised to find several acceptable choices. _Clearly_, Potter had gone shopping over the summer!

After several outfit changes—and lots of annoyed glares from his roommate—Draco had opted for a gray v-neck tee, a pair of black snug-fitting denims, and a pair of white trainers that appeared to be brand new. Yep, he'd _definitely_ been shopping! Apparently a miracle had taken place or...maybe hell had frozen over.

"_Well, what do you think?" he asked the black-haired young man who lay on his own bed impatiently waiting for him._

_Harry rolled his eyes. "They look like clothes, Malfoy. I don't know why you needed _my_ help with this! Surely Pansy would have been a better person to help you with fashion."_

"_If you call what you're doing, _help with fashion_, then I'm in big trouble," Draco said with a disgusted snort at his roommate—who couldn't be any _less_ helpful. "I know there's not a lot going on in that _bloody_ head of yours, Potter, but...couldn't you _at least_ sit up and look at me...for _just_ a minute...and tell me what you think?_

_Heaving a heavy sigh, Harry made a show of dragging himself into a sitting position, then looked at the blond. "You look fine."_

_Draco frowned, then turned back toward the massive full-length mirror he'd conjured and tugged at the shirt he was wearing. "Are you sure? I mean, this shirt seems a bit...wrinkled. And...don't you think these trousers are a touch snug?" he asked, holding the shirt up slightly so that he—and his roommate—could get a better look. "You know, I can't afford to go out there looking like—"_

"_Oh, for _fuck's _sake, Malfoy, cut this shite out! You look as _perfect_ as you always do!" Harry snapped as he jumped off his bed and stormed from the room._

Touching the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing, Draco turned slightly to hide a smile—because he wasn't nearly as irritated by what he was wearing as he wanted people to think.

"Great _Salazar_!" Pansy burst as she got up and swung her pack over her shoulder. "This waiting is _agonizing_ and I'm not doing another moment of it."

"Where are you going?" Daphne—from beside Hermione—asked.

"Back to our common room; this is ridiculous!" she complained as she headed for the door.

But then, just as Pansy was about to grab the handle and leave, a mass of tiny white lights appeared at the front of the room and, when they'd dissipated, Professor Mitchell was standing there. "Sorry I'm late, guys," she said somewhat cheerfully. "I had...some unexpected business at home."

"Oh _Merlin_, you're hurt!" Hermione said as she jumped to her feet and moved toward their professor. "Should I go get Madam Pomfrey?"

"What?" Professor Mitchell asked, obviously a bit confused. "Oh. No, that won't be necessary. I can handle this." Then, while her students watched, the fire-haired American witch held a hand over her injured arm and a bright light appeared—and, just like when their professor appeared moments before, her injuries disappeared when the light was gone.

"How...how did you _do_ that?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide with surprise and wonder.

"And, what _exactly_ are you?" Pansy, who'd crept back into the room, asked.

"Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to give you all more information about me," Professor Mitchell said. "I told you I'm part witch, but what I didn't tell you is that I'm also part Whitelighter."

"Part White _what_?" Michael Corner queried.

"My mother was a witch," their teacher said as she glanced down at something on her desk, "but my father was a White_lighter_, Mr. Corner. It's...sort of like a guardian angel for good witches like my sisters and me."

"Only _witches_?" Blaise asked with a frown.

"In my world, the term witch is used for both females _and_ males, Mr. Zabini," the red-haired woman explained.

Blaise continued to frown, but he nodded as well.

"So, you're part _angel_?" another student asked. "Oh. Sorry. I'm Sophie Roper."

"Well, not really," the woman said. "My _father_ was one and I inherited some of his abilities...like the healing and orbing, for instance...but I'm—"

"What's orbing?" Pansy cut in.

"That's how I got here; I orbed in," Professor Mitchell explained—then she demonstrated by orbing from where she stood to the other side of the room. "Over _here_," she said with a wave.

Everyone turned—except for Pansy, because she'd orbed right next to her fleeing student.

"How'd you do that?" Pansy demanded.

Their professor grinned, then reached out and grabbed hold of Pansy's arm. "Like _this_," she said, orbing from where she stood at the door back to the front of the room—taking Pansy with her.

Screaming the entire way—but only being heard while visible—Pansy had grabbed the woman and held on for dear life. But, when they appeared again—and her screaming had run its course—the dark-haired young woman quickly jumped back. "What the _fuck_ was that?" she yelled.

"I'll ignore the profanity this time," Professor Mitchell said with a grin, "but next time will be another story. So. _That_ was orbing."

Still flustered, Pansy was inching herself backward—and as far away from the crazy American witch as she could get. "I thought there were wards against Apparating inside the castle."

"Yes, there are...and I _didn't_ Apparate. In fact, I don't even know _how_ to Apparate. I do, however, know how to orb, which you plainly saw, and the castle's wards aren't configured to prevent my orbing. Now, we should get to work."

"Wait. I'd like to know more," said Ron.

Their professor shrugged. "All right. Like what?"

It was Ron's turn to shrug. "I don't know. Could you take us...orb us _anywhere_?" he asked.

Professor Mitchell shrugged again. "I don't see why not."

"Even America?" Ron pushed, thinking she'd say no—because _they_ had to use portkeys to go _that_ far.

"Sure," she said. "That's where I just came from."

"Really?" he asked.

Smiling, the woman nodded. "Yep."

"Wow! That's...brilliant! Isn't it Harry?" Ron burst.

Harry nodded at his best mate, then smiled at their pretty professor.

Pursing her lips, their flame-haired professor said, "Thank you for that assessment, gentlemen, but...let's take our seats so we can begin class, hmm?"

Everyone—including Ron and Harry—started moving back to his or her seat, but when they were seated again Hermione's hand went up. "Excuse me, Professor Mitchell," she said.

"First, let's dispense with the formalities. I'm not used to being called by my last time. My kids call me mom, but seeing as you all aren't my kids, that won't do. So...maybe you could just call me Paige."

Everyone nodded—and most smiled. It would be different to call a professor by her given name, but rather nice as well.

"And I'd like to do the same with you, if that's all right?" Paige continued. "I know I'm your professor and all, but, like I said, I'm not so used to such formalness. Plus, you guys aren't all that much younger than I am, so...how about it?"

Most people shrugged or nodded, Hermione included, but she continued to hold her hand in the air.

"Great then," Paige said with a grin. "Now, what can I do for you, Hermione?"

"I was just curious about your...injuries," the young woman said. "You were obviously hurt by something, right? Is there some danger we should know about?" Danger wasn't anything new, but if there _was_ something out there that they needed to be aware of, then Hermione wanted to know.

Paige looked around the room and, seeing worried faces, sighed. "My answers to your questions are, yeah, my sisters and I had a run in with a demon just before I was leaving to come here; had to take care of that before I could vamoose. And no, there's nothing _you_ should know or worry about. All in a day's work, you know?" she said, brushing her hands together as if she were trying to remove something dirty.

Some nodded, others frowned.

"A demon?" Hermione pushed, her brow arched curiously.

"_Yeah_. My witchy world is _a little different_ than yours, but...enough of that for now," the red-haired witch said with waved a dismissive hand. "Let's get busy here, okay?"

Frowning, because she wanted to know more, Hermione gave a clipped nod and settle into her seat—but promised herself she'd do a little research to see if she could find out a little more about their teacher's 'witchy world.'

Okay. So, I'm going to split you into two groups and I want you to get with your group. Millicent, Quincy, Zacharias, Ronald—"

"Ron," he corrected.

"Right. Sorry. Millicent, Quincy, Zacharias, _Ron_, Lavender, Justin, Pansy, Draco, Mandy, and Michael on this side," she said as she pointed to her right. "And Lila, Neville, Harry, Sophie, Hermione, Daphne, Ernie, Hannah, Morag, and Blaise on my left. Take all your belongings with you, please," she instructed, then turned toward her office in the back. "I'll be right back."

**XxXxXxX**

"_That_ was the most _ludicrous_ exercise in which I have _ever_ been involved!" Draco Malfoy complained as they walked out of Muggle Studies at half six.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Harry quipped with a snicker.

Glaring, Draco said, "Shut it, Potter!"

Blaise chuckled. "You're just saying that because Paige gave _our_ group this fantastic American candy," the dark-skinned young man said with a smirk as he tossed another piece in his mouth and exaggerated his chewing. "And, she didn't your group shite." Then, thrusting his bag out to his friend, Blaise said, "Here, have some."

Not one to turn down sweets, Draco took a few pieces. "It wasn't just _that_," he said with a slight frown furrowing his brow as he unwrapped one, "she _ignored_ us too. It was like we didn't exist. And the letter we have to write is just..." Draco groaned. "What's the point?"

"The entire thing just wasn't fair," Pansy said from behind them. "I think I might file a complaint with McGonagall...not that she'd give a bleeding crap about _me_."

"I believe that was the whole point," Hermione put in from behind the griping ex-Slytherin, "to teach us what's fair and what's not fair." Then smiling, she held out her bag of candy, offering some to her housemate. "I'd be happy to share."

Pansy narrowed her eyes at the Gryffindork's offer, then scoffed. "As if we didn't know that beforehand, Granger," she said, reaching for Daphne's bag of Muggle candy instead.

Rolling her eyes at the rejection, Hermione said, "Well, according to our past behaviors, I'd say that it was a much needed lesson."

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Pansy again narrowed her eyes at the bushy-haired ex-Gryffindor. "Is that some sort of crack about how so many in Slytherin House sided with the Dark Lord? Because, _if it is_, then—"

"Oh, Pansy, stop!" Daphne cut in. "The war is _over_; it's time to move on. And, for Merlin's sake, give Hermione a break! She's just trying to be nice."

Glaring at her blonde friend for a moment, Pansy huffed and stomped off, mumbling something about 'traitors' and then slapping at a tapestry as she went by it.

"Got a temper, that one, yeah?" Ron threw out from beside his girlfriend as he reached into her bag of candy and pulled out a handful—that he immediately shoved into his mouth.

Giving him a disgusted look, because she though he often ate like an animal, Hermione shook her head in exasperation—but didn't have a chance to speak because someone else did.

"Pans has _always_ had a temper," Draco put in. "You should have seen the tantrums she threw when we were young; she was a right brat. Don't tell her I said that though."

Blaise laughed. "It's not really a secret, Draco," he said. "Do you remember your seventh birthday gathering?" He laughed again, completely delighted to tell stories about their absent friend.

Someone else snorted. "She wanted that miniature Quidditch game I gave you _so_ badly and pouted for _at least_ an hour when her mother said she couldn't have it," Millicent said, her lips twitching into a smile.

Draco laughed hard. "I'd forgotten about that. Pans always _was_ a little spoiled."

"Says the pot about the kettle," Harry threw in with another snicker.

"Why don't you just...shut it, Potter!" Draco said with a glare.

"So, you guys have all known each other since...when exactly?" Hermione asked curiously.

The four ex-Slytherins shrugged. "For as long as we can remember, right?" said Millicent.

Draco nodded. "As you know, most of our parents...run in the same circles," he said quietly.

"Pfft! Not _mine_!" Blaise scoffed. His mother had been completely neutral during the war; all in Slytherin House were quite aware of that.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about..._that_, you imbecile! Besides, do you even know who your father was?"

Blaise laughed. It wasn't the first time that particular insult had been thrown at him—and his way was to just laugh it off. "You _know_ that I do, Draco," he quipped—but didn't give any further information.

"I'm actually related to Draco," Millicent said, redirecting the conversation. "My great great grandfather's sister, Violetta Bulstrode, married Cygnus Black."

Harry frowned. "She was my godfather's great grandmother...Violetta Black, I mean," he stated.

Millicent raised a brow. "Sirius Black was your godfather?"

Harry nodded.

"Hmm. That sort of makes us related, Potter," the black-haired young woman said with a frown. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Draco frowned, but Ron snorted. "You're not related to Harry by blood, Bulstrode, so...don't get your knickers in a bunch or anything."

Millicent rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm saying Potter's my cousin or anything, Weasley, but we all know how important bloodlines and relations are. Or, _most_ of us do."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Ron demanded heatedly.

"Well, your family _is_ a bunch of blood traitors, Weasley," Millicent said, "so apparently you _don't_ understand these things."

Ron's face turned red and it looked like he was going explode, but Blaise cut in. "Says the Half-blood," he teased.

Turning quickly, Millicent slapped Blaise sharply on the arm and glared daggers at him. "Shut your gob, Blaise!"

At this Draco rolled his eyes. "Your blood status isn't really a secret, Millie," the blond said.

Huffing, Millicent crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

"So, Bulstrode...no better than me, hmm?" Harry said with a smile—which disappeared quickly when Millicent turned a murderous glare on the wizarding world's Boy-Who-Lived (too many times to count).

"Naw, Harry, you're _much_ better than Bulstrode..._you're_ a hero!" Ron added—which earned _him_ a smack too. "OUCH, 'Ermione! What'd you do that for?"

"That wasn't very nice, Ronald!" Hermione scolded—but her anger was squelched when Millicent Bulstrode actually smiled at her.

"Come on, girls," the hulky young woman said, her eyes including Hermione, "let's take our leave of those who don't know when to keep their mouths shut."

Giving her boyfriend another frown, Hermione nodded, then quickly followed Millicent and Daphne down the hallway and away from the boys.

And _that_ was the tentative beginning of the ice being broken between another ex-Slytherin and an ex-Gryffindor.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

I hope you can forgive the typos...I simply could not reread this one more time. However, I'd like to know if you found them (errors and typos, I mean), because they just MUST be fixed. Thank you!

Further, since JKR didn't give everyone in Harry's year a birth date (let alone NAMES), I did it for her (birth dates in **bold** are from JKR)...this is how Professor Mitchell divided everyone up for their silly (and not at all age-appropriate) class exercise (which I didn't explain in the chapter, but put in below) on fairness:

Bulstrode, Millicent – January 10, 1980  
>Rivers, Quincy – February 5, 1980 (my dad's birthday - 1943)<br>Smith, Zacharias – February – 7, 1980 (my mom's birthday - 1946)  
><strong>Weasley, Ronald – March 1, 1980<strong>  
>Brown, Lavender – April 10, 1980<br>Finch-Flechley, Justin – April 25, 1980  
>Parkinson, Pansy – May 20, 1980<br>**Malfoy, Draco – June 5, 1980**  
>Brocklehurst, Mandy – June 12, 1980<br>Corner, Michael – June 30, 1980

Malone, Lila – July 13, 1980 (my birthday - 1970)  
><strong>Longbottom, Neville – July 30, 1980<strong>  
><strong>Potter, Harry – July 31, 1980<strong>  
>MacMillan, Ernie – August 31, 1980<br>**Granger, Hermione – September 19, 1979**  
>Greengrass, Daphne – September 22, 1979<br>Roper, Sophie – September 23, 1979  
>Abbott, Hannah – October 15, 1979<br>MacDougal, Morag – October 26, 1979 (my son's birthday - 1993)  
>Zabini, Blaise – December 2, 1979 (<em>one<em> of my brothers' birthdays - 1974)

***** Note – **as you read what's below, you'll notice I didn't write all this stuff into the chapter and that the exercise is WAY below their age, but...just assume they did some things (but not all) anyway. =)

"**What's Fair?"**

**Levels**: Pre K to K, Grades 1 to 2, Grades 3 to 5

**Subject**: Reading and Language Arts, Social Studies, Arts, ELL / ESL, Mix It Up

This lesson explores the concept of fairness through questions such as: What is fair? Should all people be treated the same? What would you do if you saw someone treated unfairly? Students are encouraged to reflect upon fairness in their own lives and communities.

**Framework**  
>Understanding the concept of fairness is important for young people. From an early age, we begin to develop opinions about what is fair and what isn't. How many times have you heard a toddler yelling, "that's not fair" when he doesn't get his way? As we get older, our perceptions of fairness change, but they continue to be based on personal perception. This creates many teachable moments for students. What is fair to one student may seem unfair to another. And what seems unfair to many, may offer opportunities to create school-wide, local or national change. It is important to teach children from a young age the importance of fairness in applying rules and laws, fighting for changes in rules, laws, behavior or current issues and treating others with respect and tolerance at all times.<p>

**Upper Elementary (3-5)**

**Objectives**  
>Activities will help students:<p>

* Distinguish between what is fair and what is unfair  
>* Reflect upon unfair situations from history and in their own lives<br>* Offer solutions as to how to remedy a seemingly unfair situation

**Essential Questions**

* Have you ever been in a situation where you didn't feel like you were being treated fairly?  
>* Have you ever treated anyone unfairly?<br>* What would you do if you saw someone being treated unfairly?  
>* What does it mean to accept responsibility?<br>* Why is it important to treat people fairly?

**Glossary**

bias [**bahy**-_uh_s]  
>(<em>noun<em>) prejudiced, or favoring one person or point of view more than others

fair [fair]  
>(<em>adjective<em>) free from bias, dishonesty or injustice

unfair [uhn-**fair**]  
>(<em>adjective<em>) not fair, not conforming to approved standards as of justice, honesty or ethics

**Materials**

* Bag of candy (or new pencils)  
>* Journal<br>* Handout: Fair or Unfair (PDF)  
>* Newspapers, news magazines, access to Internet (for optional extension activity)<p>

**Activities**

1. Before students enter the room, divide them into two groups by the month they were born (e.g., Jan.-June and July-Dec.). Then do the following:

* Divide students into two groups without telling them why they are being separated.  
>* Direct the students in each group to sit in different areas of the room.<br>* Choose one of the groups to favor. Without explaining why, give everyone in your favored group a few pieces of candy (or new pencils). Explain to the class that only one group will get the candy. That same group will be the only ones to get other special privileges (such as extra recess time, no homework, being first in line, etc.) Students in the other group likely will protest.  
>* After a few minutes (or until someone in the other group says, "that's not fair!"), stop the exercise.<br>* Ask students if they know what determined whether they were in the favored group or the non-favored group. Encourage all guesses and share the answer.

2. How did you feel during the exercise? Do you think you would have felt differently if you had been the one getting the candy and special privileges than if you had been the one not getting the candy and special privileges?

3. (Note: Write the word, "fair" on the board.) What does the word, "fair" mean to you? Write your definitions on the board and come up with one definition as a class.

4. Do you think that it was "fair" or "unfair" that some kids got candy and other special privileges? Why or why not? If not fair, what would have made it fair? Would it be fair to give the candy to students who earned it? Would it be fair if all students got the candy? Would it be fair if you picked 10 students names out of a hat to get the candy?

5. (Note: Distribute the Fair or Unfair handout.) Divide students into groups of five. Read the situations on the handout and, with your group, decide which ones you think are "fair" and which are "unfair." For each that is "unfair," come up with a way that you think it could become fair. Share answers with the class.

6. Then, in your groups, determine which of the situations you think is _most_ unfair and why. Compare answers with the rest of the class. Do you all agree? If not, is it possible to reach consensus? Do you think situations that affect more people are more unfair than those that affect just a few? Are situations that show bias or discrimination more unfair than those that just show favoritism? What about those in which people's lives are in danger?

7. What events from history would you label as "unfair?" Think about people's rights (right to vote, slavery), biases and discrimination (girls not being allowed to play sports, laws requiring segregation by race), terrorist acts (World Trade Towers in New York City, Oklahoma City bombing), natural disasters (Hurricane Katrina), etc. Do you think it is important for us to learn from or try to change the unfair things that happen in life?

8. What about your life? Has anything unfair ever happened to you? In your journal, write about something unfair that has directly affected you. Why was it unfair? How did it make you feel? Did you learn anything from it? Sometimes what is considered unfair to one person may benefit another. Might someone else think what you wrote about was fair?

9. Finally, think about something "unfair" that you observed or that you were somehow responsible for. It may help to brainstorm ideas with a partner first. For example:

* Have you ever left someone out, like when playing a game?  
>* Have you ever gotten something you may not have deserved?<br>* Have you ever watched someone treat someone else in a way they didn't deserve?  
>* Do you enjoy rights that someone else may not have, even though you haven't earned them?<br>* What stereotypical portrayal have you made about others?

10. Write a mock letter to the person or group that you feel was treated unfairly. Share why you think this treatment was unfair, what you think you could have done differently and how you plan to act differently in the future.

**Extension Activities**  
>Unfair things happen in your community and around the world every day. Look through newspapers, magazines and Internet news sites to find an article or photo that you think shows something that is unfair. Present your article to the class and tell why you think it is unfair and what you would do (if you could) to change it.<p>

**Standards **

Activities and embedded assessments address the following standards (McREL 4thedition)

**Arts**

Standard 1: Understands connections among the various art forms and other disciplines

**Language Arts**

Standard 4: Gathers and uses information for research purposes

Standard 8: Uses listening and speaking strategies for different purposes

**U.S. History**

Standard 29: Understands the struggle for racial and gender equality and for the extension of civil liberties.

**Civics**

Standard 9: Understands the importance of Americans sharing and supporting certain values, beliefs, and principles of American constitutional democracy

Standard 11: Understands the role of diversity in American life and the importance of shared values, political beliefs, and civic beliefs in an increasingly diverse American society

Standard 14: Understands issues concerning the disparity between ideals and reality in American political and social life

Standard 25: Understands issues regarding personal, political and economic rights


	19. Changing

x-X-x

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

RandomAsRainbows (30 July 2012) – your experiment in regards to fairness was rather interesting and i can understand the reason for bringing it in. i liked the introduction of the charmed ones, Paige could make things pretty interesting. ******* Not sure if there'll be much of Professor Paige Mitchell in the story, but thank you...I'm glad you recognized who she is. =)**

DracosLuva (31 July, 2012) – Hi! I just read this all in one go, and I'm adoring it! You're style is very fitting for a well-written HP fanfic, and it's nice to see that even with OCs and authoristic (? dunno how else to say that...) liberties, nothing is detracted from the story and it remains a joy to read. I must say I am intrigued as to how you plan on remaining epilogue-compliant with no Harry/Ginny! You're wonderful, and doing wonderful, and I hope you continue on with doing what you do best (in all things)! Sev ******* Thanks, Sev...I appreciate your words and compliments. I am trying very hard to keep people as in character as I am capable...of course, I'm not JKR, so what do I know, right? *grin* About epilogue compliance...let's just say that, whatever happens between Harry and Draco (and I don't know what exactly will yet), they will go their separate ways (sort of) after they finish this extended 7****th**** year. Now, if you read my other HP fics...the dirtier ones...you'll see what happens to Harry and Draco in their future (all my HP fics are related, even if they appear to not be).**

Miridiea (5 August, 2012) – I'm actually a teacher, and I was wondering if I could steal your lesson plan? ******* I already PM'd you, but...of course you may. We're all thieves here on this site, right? Hehe. Plus, I stole that lesson plan off the Internet, so...by all means, steal away! *grin***

**Author's Note**

So, this chapter is taking a bit of a detour...sorry if that bothers you. It probably won't mean much to _this_ story, but it might in the future (future fics that is...because all my HP fics are related).

Okay...babbling done...on to **Chapter Nineteen**...

* * *

><p><strong>Posted:<strong> 11 August, 2012

**Word Count:** 4,871

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Nineteen  
><strong>

"**Changing"**

Three more days got the Eighths through their first full week of classes—and then, in a blink, three more _weeks_ had passed, seeing them three days into October. Time was going by quickly.

And then something strange happened.

"Well, I don't care _what the fuck_ you think, Bulstrode!" Lavender Brown snarled as she slammed the flat of her hands down on their dining table in the Great Hall and stood up with such fervor that her chair flew backward and clattered to the floor.

For a moment, Millicent stared at her roommate—then she glanced around the Great Hall. _Loads_ of people were staring at them. Frowning, because she didn't like the scrutiny, she looked back at her obviously unhappy roommate. Millicent didn't know what she'd said wrong, but the blonde ex-Gryffindor next to her looked furious—and Millicent wasn't used to allowing someone to talk to her in such a way. In fact, such a comment directed at her was grounds, in her opinion, for a hexing—not that she could or would do such a thing while on display in the Great Hall with the entire school watching.

But, she couldn't do _nothing_, because _that_ would go against who she was. Standing, she glared and started to respond. "Look, _Brown_, I don't know what your bloody problem is, but—"

"Um, Bulstrode," Hermione cut in, her eyes going nervously from Lavender, who was practically foaming at the mouth, to their Headmistress, "I mean...Millicent," she said, her eyes going nervously to the dark-haired young woman. "I ahh...I think we might want to consult with McGonagall on this."

Millicent blinked, confused by everything, then frowned at Hermione's words. The last few weeks living in the same quarters had, if not turned them into friend, at least caused them to warm to each other—a little. Millicent no longer hated the know-it-all ex-Gryffindor. If truth be known, she sort of respected the other woman. Hermione Granger was smart and interesting and...able to take control of their House when things got a little wild. The woman knew how to step in and put an end to arguments that had the potential to cause a rift between them. Like now with Lavender Brown's outburst.

Knowing she needed to say something, Millicent opened her mouth—but then their headmistress was standing beside them. "Is there a problem here?" the old woman asked. She'd seen the display, because she was sitting front and center at the head table, and she wanted to make sure it didn't progress into something worse.

Nodding, Hermione said, "Um. I think Lavender might...might be...having a...ahh—"

"A _what_, Miss Granger?" the headmistress ground out with irritation.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione leaned close and whispered into the woman's ear—which caused their McGonagall's eyes to widen and turn on Lavender.

"Is what Miss Granger says true, dear?" the woman asked Lavender, who looked somewhere between furious and frightened.

Tears trickling down Lavender's cheeks—and mixing with the saliva still wetting her chin—the blonde young woman nodded. "I...I think so, Headmistress," she cried. "I'm sorry."

Frowning, McGonagall glanced around the room—silence had fallen and most were watching the goings on at the front of the Great Hall—then back at the blonde. "You'll need to come with me, dear," she said. Then, seeing that Lavender was about to break down into sobs, she placed a hand on her arm and gave it a gentle pat. "It's not the end of the world, Miss Brown," McGonagall said. "Now please, let's move this out of the Great Hall and up to my office so we can talk in private." Then she looked at the other two young women standing beside Lavender. "Miss Granger, Miss Bulstrode, I would like you both to accompany us."

Millicent blinked. "Me?! Why _me_?"

"Because, dear, you are Miss Brown's roommate."

Millicent frowned, but didn't argue. One did not argue with McGonagall.

Before leading them from the room, their headmistress had another question. "Who else knows about this, Miss Granger?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't know for sure. It was...crazy that day. Ron and Harry were there with me, of course; they both witnessed the incident with..._him_," she said, whispering the last word, because she knew Lavender wouldn't want to hear the name of the man who'd done this to her.

Headmistress McGonagall nodded. "All right then, we'll start there. Please ask them and their roommates to join us in my office, Miss Granger," she said—then added, "And, your roommate as well. I will take Miss Brown and Miss Bulstrode up to my office. Please gather your roommates and meet us up there." And with that, the older woman motioned for Lavender and Millicent to follow her—and Hermione hurried over to the boys' table.

**XxXxXxX**

"What's going on, 'Ermione?" Ron asked as soon as his girlfriend was within hearing range.

Hermione frowned. "Do you remember what happened to Lavender during the battle?" she asked, looking from Ron to Harry—then continued when they nodded. "Well, it seems something's come of it. The Headmistress would like the three of us _and_ our roommates to join them in her office," she said, her eyes going to Malfoy and Zabini.

Beside a now standing Harry, Draco rose gracefully to his feet, as did Ron—with less grace—and Blaise—and filed around their table to head out of the Great Hall, picking up Daphne on their way.

"Hey," Pansy called out. "Where are you going? What's happening?"

Looking at his friend, Draco shrugged. "No idea, Pans," he said, obviously annoyed that his meal had been interrupted by something war-related. The war was something he never wanted to deal with again—if that were possible. Clearly it was not!

"So...what happened to Brown?" Draco asked once the six of them were closed off from the noise—and the curious eyes and ears—within the Great Hall.

Ron, who was walking in front with his two best friends, glanced over his shoulder and glared at the blond. "That bloody psychotic werewolf bit her during the battle," the redhead growled, as if it were Draco's fault that it had happened—like it _had been_ when the very same werewolf came into the castle during their sixth year and scarred up Ron's brother Bill.

"_Greyback_?" queried Draco.

"Don't _even_ say his name, Ferret!" Ron snapped. "It freaks Lavender out."

All Draco managed was a scowl before Hermione spoke, effectively cutting him off before he could snap back.

"Stop it, Ronald!" the young woman said, her tone one that would brook no argument. Then, to the blond, she said, "And yes, Malfoy...it _was_ Greyback."

Draco frowned again. "But, it wasn't a full moon during the battle. How's that possible?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've done some reading—"

"Of course you have," Zabini threw in with a chuckle.

After flashing her boyfriend's roommate an irritated glare, the bushy-haired young woman continued. "As I was _saying_, I read up on the subject of lycanthropy a bit in our third year...because Professor Snape was trying to out Remus. If I remember correctly, this is quite rare. But it obviously _does_ happen sometimes...a change after a bite from an unchanged werewolf, I mean. In the books, it's always happened when the biting werewolf is especially cruel and it usually takes some time. This will be the sixth full moon since the war ended. It looks like Lavender might be changing," she said sadly.

Ron frowned. "What about Bill?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's been too long for Bill. He would have exhibited signs within the first year. He's been safe since the end of June."

Relieved, Ron sighed. His family didn't need another tragedy, so he was glad. "So...Lavender though, huh?"

Hermione nodded. "Appears so."

"If _that's_ the case, she can't stay _here_," Draco said with one of his classic sneers. He remembered all too well what being subjected to a werewolf was like. Greyback had _terrorized_ him every time he'd visited Malfoy Manor during the war. The disgusting man had made a habit of making snide remarks about how Draco was _lucky_ his family was on the _right side_—even going so far, on a few occasions, as to push the blond up against a wall and hiss horribly lecherous things in his ear. _That_ he'd done when he knew there wasn't a soul around to object or protect the boy and Draco, though in no way an innocent, had been utterly terrified.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course she can, Malfoy. Remus never hurt anyone while he was here...even when he went to school here with my parents."

Draco glared at Harry—but again wasn't able to respond, because someone else did.

"Besides," Hermione interrupted, "there are potions to help keep her comfortable and in her right mind now. It's not like it was when Remus was a student here."

"But, she'll still have to be separated from us when she's all..._GRRR_," said Blaise, pulling his lips back to bare his teeth and curling his fingers to look like claws. "Right?"

Hermione couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped her. "Well, yes, of course, but werewolves aren't dangerous...in general."

This made Draco snort. "What are you _talking_ about, Granger. Do you even _know_ many werewolves? Because Greyback is—"

"I told you not to say that bastard's name!" Ron growled, his teeth clenched as he turned on the blond ex-Slytherin.

"Ron..._please_," Hermione said, her hand reaching for and clasping her boyfriend's. "I'm sure Malfoy doesn't mean anything by using his name and...well, Lavender isn't even with us to hear him. Please calm down," she said, squeezing the man's hand.

Ron flashed another furious glare at the blond, but visibly relaxed—and Hermione smiled, then looked at the blond young man again. "You were saying, Malfoy?"

Draco gave Ron a hard look, then spoke. "_Greyback_ was a vicious bastard _all_ the time...even when it wasn't a full moon. Werewolves _are_ dangerous!"

Hermione nodded. "Well yes, they _can_ be...if they don't take their Wolfsbane Potion. And Greyback is a whole different ball of wax. But I'm certain Headmistress McGonagall will take care of that. Lavender won't be like Greyback, Draco," she said, using the blond's given name to get his attention. And it worked; Draco didn't comment further.

But someone else did.

"Are you sure?" Daphne said, finally voicing her concern over their werewolf housemate remaining at Hogwarts with them. She didn't _at all_ like large creatures—and that's what werewolves were, as far as she was concerned. Large _mindless_ creatures that had no business being with civilized witches and wizards.

Hermione nodded. "_Absolutely_. And Lavender's going to need our support. I'm not sure what the Headmistress has planned, but she clearly wants our help."

**XxXxXxX**

At the entrance to the Headmistress' office, the six housemates stopped for a second. Headmistress McGonagall had left the entrance to her rooms open—meaning, the gargoyle statue that was usually there blocking intruders, was not in their way. It was, instead, off to the side.

One by one, the six Eighths stepped onto the spiral staircase, which started to move when they were all on it, taking them up to the Headmistress's office. Behind them, the gargoyle had moved back into place. But in front of them they faced a highly polished oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. And Hermione, squaring her shoulders, reached for the knocker.

"Please do come in, ladies and gentlemen," Headmistress McGonagall said after swinging the door open. She turned and walked over to her desk, circled it, and sat down. Picking up six things from her desk, she tossed them onto the floor, then used her wand to transfigure the items, which appeared to be colorful glass stones, into six plush chairs—then smiled at them. "Please make yourselves comfortable."

Moving into the room slowly, they all did what they were told, but it was obvious that a few of them were quite nervous. Draco and Daphne—and to some extent Blaise—kept looking over at Lavender, who was just sitting there, her cheeks wet with tears, her entire body ridged.

"Now," the headmistress began, "we'll need to come up with a plan for Miss Brown's predicament."

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Draco interrupted, "but...why _exactly_ am I involved in this? I have nothing against...Lavender," he said, his eyes going to the young woman, "but...she's not _my_ friend."

"Mr. Malfoy, let me make this abundantly clear for you," the older woman started, her eyes narrowed on the blond. "After the shenanigans you have pulled over the years, and after the way your family behaved during the war and before, you have absolutely _no_ leeway here. You _are_ going to help me with this and you are going to do it with a smile on your face! Do I make myself clear?"

Blushing, Draco nodded. He was furious that she'd rebuked him, as if he were a child—and in front of people—but he didn't disagree with her.

"Good!" the woman snapped—then looked at each of the eight students sitting in her office. "Now, it seems that Miss Brown was bitten by the werewolf known as Greyback."

At the man's name, Lavender let out a sob and slumped over. "I'm so s-sorry, Headmistress. I should have t-told you, but I...it's been six m-months and nothing's happened. I t-thought...I just figured t-that I was safe."

"You _are_ safe, dear," Headmistress McGonagall said.

"But...but I'm changing into a _werewolf_," Lavender wept, dropping her head into her hands. "No one will _ever_ be safe around me again."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "That's nonsense, Miss Brown. Life _is_ going to change, but you will learn to manage your condition and I'm certain you can live a normal life."

"_Normal_?!" Lavender burst, tears streaming down her face. "Nothing will _ever_ be normal _again_! Everyone will _hate_ me! I'll be a pariah!"

"Don't be so dramatic, dear," the headmistress said—but Lavender continued to sob.

"Oh, for _Salazar's_ sake, cease that blubbering this instant!" came a very cold voice from behind them. "If the chit were still in Gryffindor, I would have to deduct ten points for such atrocious behavior. If I were still alive, that is."

Every face in the room had turned and all were looking at the dead man's portrait.

"But she is not, Severus!" snapped McGonagall. "In Gryffindor House, that is. And _you_ are not alive, so that is neither here nor there." The woman waved her hand dismissively and glared at her former colleague.

"Professor Snape?" came a chorus of voices as they all stared up at the man's image.

"Hello, Sir," Draco said, unable to keep a smile off his face.

Looking down at Draco fondly, Snape nodded. "Hello, Draco. How are your parents?"

After glancing around—because he didn't like talking about his family in front of others—Draco shrugged. "Mother is coping, but Father is...well..._Father_."

Snape nodded. "I'm sure they will recover."

"Of course, Sir," Draco said, glad for the dead man's pep talk—if it could be considered that.

"Hold your head high, Draco," Snape went on. "You too will recover. Malfoys _always_ do."

Draco frowned—because the last part seemed like a dig. "Sir?"

"How are you, Sir?" Hermione cut in, smiling at their former professor and headmaster nervously.

The man snorted. "How do you _think_ I am, Miss Granger...I am _dead_!"

"Yes, Sir, but...it's good to see you," Hermione said.

Leaning against his friend, Ron whispered in Harry's ear. "Who _painted_ that monstrosity? Couldn't they have gotten rid of the greasy hair and, you know, did something about that nose of his?"

Harry snickered, but Hermione—and the four ex-Slytherins—glared at him.

"I _heard_ that, Mr. Weasley!" Snape snapped. "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that my hearing is no worse than it used to be. And, if you _think_ that I can't punish you from the afterlife, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Give me a reason," he whispered, his eyes glittering. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

Ron swallowed. "Um. Yes, Sir. I mean...no, Sir, that won't be necessary," he said, causing at least four students to smirk.

Snape gave the redhead one last glare, then turned his black eyes on Harry, who'd managed to make his face blank. "Potter. I see that _you're_ still causing trouble."

Harry shook his head. "No, Sir, I'm just here to help."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Help? What a high opinion you have of yourself, Potter! How _extraordinarily_ like your father you are," Snape said, his eyes suddenly glinting. "He too was exceedingly—"

"Oy!" Ron burst, interrupting Snape's familiar droning. "Do you have _any_ idea what Harry's done for you, Professor Snape? You would not even be hanging on that there wall if it hadn't been for Harry! If Harry hadn't—"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the headmistress cut in, her hands folded on her desk. "As stimulating as it is to listen to old arguments, I'd like to get to the matter at hand."

"Of course, Headmistress," the man in the portrait said, giving the woman a nod. "What is it that I can do for you tonight?"

"I was hoping that you could visit your portrait in Slughorn's quarters and explain our dilemma to him," the woman said, nodding in Lavender's direction. The young woman was once again slumped in her chair, seemingly ignoring them. "I'm sure Poppy has a few batches of your Wolfsbane Potion in her stores, but we're going to need more."

Snape nodded. "Certainly. Will there be anything else?"

"Not at the moment, Severus, but...please do try to visit us, we miss you," she said.

Snape looked from her to the seven students looking up at him. Not one of them appeared to disagree with her. Turning his dark eyes back on the woman, he nodded. "Good day then," he said, then quickly disappeared.

"Now, Miss Brown," the headmistress said—then waited for the young woman to look at her. "I've owled Madam Pomfrey, so she'll be coming up to fetch you. Unfortunately, since we didn't know about this and you haven't been ingesting are regular regimen of Wolfsbane Potion, you will have to be confined for the next three days. But, after that we'll get you on track and this will be but a distant memory."

"But, Headmistress, I will change every month and...and...I shouldn't even _be_ here," the blonde woman wailed.

"Oh, do calm yourself, Miss Brown!" McGonagall snapped impatiently. "You are not the first person to be afflicted with this and you _certainly_ won't be the last. Now, I've also sent an owl to your parents. They can, of course, come visit you in the hospital wing next Wednesday, but I've advised them to wait until next weekend...to give you a few days to rest."

Lavender nodded morosely.

"This won't be fun, dear, but...I'm promise that you'll get through it," their headmistress said—then glanced up. "Ahh, Poppy, you're here. Would you please take Miss Brown down to the rooms that Professor Lupin used during his time of the month and make her as comfortable as possible, then give her an hourly dose of Wolfsbane Potion mixed with a Calming Draught. It's too late to control all of the worst effects of her condition, but we can certainly try to make this first transition a bit easier."

Madam Pomfrey wrung her hands, but nodded. "Come along dear," she said as she reached out and helped Lavender up. "Let's get you out of here and settled downstairs."

Lavender nodded, smiled meekly, then walked out without a backward glance.

**XxXxXxX**

After the blonde werewolf-to-be was gone, Headmistress McGonagall looked at the others. "I suppose you're all wondering why I've asked you to be a part of this."

Most nodded.

"Miss Bulstrode, as Miss Brown's roommate, you are going to have to deal with her outbursts the most. I know this is going to be difficult, but I really think you can handle it."

Millicent frowned. She didn't even _like_ her roommate and now she was being expected to _deal with her outbursts_. "Headmistress, may I be frank?"

"Of course, dear," the older woman said gently—somewhat throwing the large, bulky woman through a loop.

"I...um...don't really care for Brown," she said. "She's...annoying."

McGonagall stifled a chuckle. "I can imagine that the changes this year are difficult on all of you, but...I still need your cooperation. Can I count on you?"

Millicent glanced at her housemates, then back at the ex-head of Gryffindor House. Nodding, she said, "Of course, Headmistress."

This time, McGonagall smiled. "Thank you, dear. I deeply appreciate it."

All Millicent could do was smile and give a clipped nod.

Next, the headmistress looked at Harry. "Mr. Potter, you are aware of how your father and his friends helped Remus back in the day, correct?"

Harry stared at her in confusion for a moment, then nodded.

"Good then. Then you will be able to help Miss Brown?" she asked.

Harry frowned—then his eyes widened. "But, I'm not...I can't do what my father did."

"Of course you can, Mr. Potter," the woman said. "You obviously won't be able to help _this month_, but I'm hoping that by next month you might."

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Hermione interrupted. "Are you suggesting that Harry become an—"

"Ah, ah, ah, Miss Granger," the headmistress cut in with a shake of her head and a finger. "If this is going to work, as it did for Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, then mum's the word."

"So, you're saying that you want Harry to...do this thing...to help Lavender, and that we're all supposed to...what? Not tell anyone?"

Headmistress McGonagall shook her head. "No, what I'm asking is that, _all of you_ 'do this thing' for Lavender. To help her out monthly."

And suddenly Ron figured out what was being discussed. "But...wait. Whoa, that's _complicated_ magic!" he burst. "You want me..._us_ to become...what you are?"

"That is _precisely_ what I'd like you all to do, Mr. Weasley," the woman said.

"Wait just a minute," Draco said, now sitting up straighter in his chair. "That's _illegal_. I can't be involved in anything illegal, Headmistress."

"No, Mr. Malfoy, and I wouldn't suggest that you do. However, it's only illegal if, after you're capable of said magic, you don't register," the headmistress said. "For good reason, such magic is not supposed to be taught here at Hogwarts and, therefore, I cannot endeavor to teach you myself. But I won't stop you from teaching yourselves, on your own time. But I would be happy to give pointers, should you require them. And I will take full responsibility, should it be necessary."

Draco glanced at Blaise, who was smiling. "I'm in if you're in," the dark-skinned young man said.

Draco nodded. "_I'm_ in," he said excitedly.

"Hold on," Daphne said. "How exactly will this help Lavender? I mean, I'm assuming that Potter's father was...one of these things that we're not naming...for Professor Lupin, when they were young, but...there was no Wolfsbane Potion then, right? Doesn't the potion prevent werewolves from turning and keep them in their right minds if they do?"

"Yes, that is the idea, Miss Greengrass," McGonagall agreed, "but having her friends around her during her time will make things easier for her...and you being in another form will make it safer for you."

Daphne frowned. "Are you saying that a bit at that time wouldn't change us if...?"

"That is _precisely_ what I'm saying, Miss Greengrass," the headmistress said. "It is, of course, up to each of you individually. I cannot force you to do this."

"Well, _I'll_ give it a try," Hermione said. Lavender wasn't her favorite person in the world, but she _was_ a housemate. "What do you guys say?"

Harry and Ron nodded. So did Millicent—because she'd pretty much already agreed to help. And Blaise and Draco were on board. It was just Daphne.

"Can I sleep on it?" the pretty blonde asked. She was completely torn.

Headmistress McGonagall nodded. "Of course, dear...but I'd like to know as soon as possible. It would be really nice if at least a few of you were able to do this by next month's full moon, which falls on the fourth. And I only say that because I'd prefer that you all register together, as soon as you're all...able. I'm afraid the Ministry will become suspicious if a couple of you register every month.

"Of course, this puts a little more pressure on you and your other courses and activities. I don't want you to get behind, but, considering what you'll be doing, I think you can skip a few Transfiguration classes this month. I will talk to Professors Korttryne about this; I'm sure they'd be more than willing to offer assistance as well."

"Won't they worry about getting involved?" Blaise asked.

"I doubt it," McGonagall said. "I'm sure you've noticed how different they are."

There were nods all around.

"Well, I'm not at liberty to discuss _their_ particulars, but...let's just say they are pretty much above the rules."

Draco glanced at Harry. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Glaring, Harry said, "Watch it, Malfoy!"

"So, in the interest of no discussing _other people's particulars_, what do we tell the rest of our house about Lavender's outburst in the Great Hall?" Hermione asked.

"Though it _is_ Lavender's story, I suppose I _will_ have to explain at least some of this to them. I'll come to your common room this evening and fill them in on what occurred in the Great Hall...and let them know that I've asked you to help Miss Brown through this rough time. Will that be sufficient?"

Hermione looked at everyone else, then shrugged. "I guess."

"All right then, let's end this for now," their headmistress said as she rose. "I'll keep you posted on Miss Brown's condition."

Standing, the seven Eighths got to their feet and filed out of Headmistress McGonagall's office.

**XxXxXxX**

"Well..._that_ was interesting!" Blaise said as they descended from floor to floor.

"Do you really think it's safe to help?" Daphne asked, clearly still worried.

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Headmistress McGonagall wouldn't purposely put us in danger."

Ron snorted. "Oh no, because professors and headmasters have _never_ put us in danger before," he said sarcastically. "Trolls wondering around the castle, three-headed dogs, crazy professors with Dark Lords in his head, massive snakes in a _hidden_ chamber, Dementors hanging out in the grounds, polyjuiced evil professors that put minors' names into a cup, dragons, controlling sadistic professors...not to mention a headmaster who keeps important information from us! Did I miss anything?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but...you know what I mean, Ron. And you _know_ McGonagall needs us, so stop with the jokes."

"Who's joking!" the redhead said.

"_Ronald_!" she growled. "We're talking about a friend here. _Your_ ex-girlfriend, to be more specific. Could you _please_ stop with the nonsense?!"

Ron managed to look abashed. "Of course, 'Ermione," he said, contrite.

"It'll be fine, Daphness," Hermione said next, looking at her roommate. "Plus, we'll learn to do something that very few witches and wizards manage.

Daphne nodded.

"Yeah...well, not sure how I'm going to keep all this from Pansy," Draco said dejectedly.

Blaise snickered. "Yeah, you _do_ have a problem there."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, Zabini!" he snapped.

"I'm just agreeing with you, mate," the dark-skinned boy said, still grinning.

"The headmistress _is_ going to come explain," Hermione said with a frown, not sure why they were so worried.

Millicent snorted. "Right. Because _waiting_ is one of Pansy's stronger points."

"Pansy has strong points?" Ron commented.

"That's _enough_, Ronald!" Hermione said at the same time Draco snarled out a "Fuck the hell off, Weasel!"

Then to Pansy's friends, Hermione said, "Can't you just tell her you've been instructed to say nothing and that she'll be told soon enough?"

Blaise burst into laughter. "You're hysterical, Granger!"

"What? Why?" the bushy-haired young woman asked.

"Because Pansy doesn't wait for anyone," Blaise said. "In fact, I'm not going back to the common room until this evening."

"What!" Draco burst. "Where are you going?"

Blaise shrugged. "It's Saturday, mate, I'm going to hit Hogsmeade and have a few drinks. Anyone care to join me?"

Daphne shook her head. "I have some studying to do if I'm going to make a decision on this quickly. I'm going to the library."

Hermione nodded. "I'll go with you, if you don't mind."

Daphne shrugged. "Fine with me. Millicent?"

Millicent frowned, but decided to join the girls.

Harry looked at Ron and said, "What do you think?"

Ron shrugged. "Hogsmeade sounds good."

"Hogsmeade it is then," Harry said.

That just left Draco. He didn't much care for the idea of going back to the common room and running into Pansy, but he didn't like the thought of spending the rest of the day with Weasley either.

"Oh, _come on_, Draco, the Gryffindorks won't bite you. At least, not these two," Blaise teased. "I promise."

Rolling his eyes, Draco finally agreed to go.


	20. Unexpected Support

x-X-x

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

Lori94 (12 August 2012) – Good idea! Love it! ******* Thank you, dear! =)**

Frederick todd (18 August 2012) – As much as I love your story I feel as though your notes are overriding your story. Try to tone it down a bit but just know that I love your story. ******* Much to your consternation, I'm sure, I'm going to post my response to your review here in my AUTHOR'S NOTES, because this is the only way for people to know what I'm thinking...that I can figure out. First...thanks...I'm glad you like my story...that's great to hear. =) Second...nope, not gonna happen, as far as the notes go. I had one other person complain (I think), but everyone else I've talked to seems to appreciate the time I take to write them. As far as I'm concerned, if a reader doesn't like MY author's notes (or author's notes in general), then he/she is absolutely welcome to skip them...I very OFTEN skip other people's, because I too don't care for rambling. Notes are just my thing and aren't going anywhere any time soon. Sorry. My advice to you, once again, is to skip them...I certainly make it clear where the actual story begins. But again, thanks for reading and reviewing...I do very much appreciate the feedback.**

**Author's Note**

Still on my detour...sorry if that bothers you. It probably won't mean much to this story, but it might in the future (future fics that is...because all my HP fics are related).

Okay, on to **Chapter Twenty**...

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>22 August, 2012

**Word Count: **6,176

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><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Twenty**

"**Unexpected Support"**

Lavender Brown's first transition into a werewolf _could_ have been much worse. As it turned out, Millicent Bulstrode went back to see the headmistress—during the day following the first of three nights of the ex-Gryffindor's change—with some interesting news.

"How can I help you, Miss Bulstrode?" the very exhausted-looking headmistress asked the obviously nervous young woman.

Millicent frowned. "I was curious..." she began as she entered Headmistress McGonagall's office and closed the door quietly behind her. "How is...Lavender?" she asked, using the other girl's surname for the first time.

Her brows first rising high on her forehead, Headmistress McGonagall then narrowed her already beady eyes and looked at the girl through her square glasses; she was obviously suspicious of the ex-Slytherin's curiosity. "It was a difficult night, as will be the next two nights...tonight will be the worst of the three nights. But she will recover."

Still frowning, Millicent gnawed on her lip, then looked down at her hands and twisted them worriedly. There was something more she wanted to ask, but didn't know how to phrase her question.

"I...um...I was wondering. You said...Animagi can't be harmed by a werewolf, right?"

"While in his or her animal form, he or she cannot be _changed_ into a werewolf...but there is some risk," the older woman corrected.

Millicent continued to frown. "Risk?"

Headmistress McGonagall nodded. "That is correct. Werewolves are _angry_ creatures, Miss Bulstrode. Unlike animals, many of which can be tamed, werewolves cannot be; they will go after anything that moves. Though, Mr. Potter's father and his friends proved that that is not _always_ the case. I know this _sounds_ like a contradiction. It is true that werewolves cannot be tamed, but they seem to have some affinity for most Animagi."

"Most?"

The headmistress shrugged. "I know of a case where the werewolf went after an Animagus."

Millicent's shoulders drooped.

"The werewolf was Fenrir Greyback and the Animagus was me, Miss Bulstrode...so don't put too much stock in my plans not working. Greyback is an extremely vicious werewolf...even in human form."

Millicent nodded. "Yes, I know," she mumbled, then spoke clearly. "I've heard some of Potter's stories about his father and Professor Lupin. I'm just..." She let her words trail off and wrung her hands again. "I guess all this just..._scares_ me," she admitted quietly.

The headmistress looked the young woman over and sighed. "Well, as I said, you do not have to attempt this. It is quite an undertaking and I would completely understand if you couldn't or just don't want to do it. I, myself, spent last night with Miss Brown and, though difficult, it went well. The Wolfsbane Potion, Calming Draught mixture that Madam Pomfrey administered did _some_ good. It _didn't_ prevent her from shifting, but she was definitely calm after the change had taken place. And she didn't attack me in my Animagus form, which I consider a good thing."

"That _is_ good," Millicent agreed. "But, what do you mean by, _after the change had taken place_?"

"The transition from human to werewolf is extremely painful," the headmistress told her. "Just imagine bones stretching and shifting in one's body...all in a matter of minutes."

Millicent shuddered. "I experienced some growing pains between first and second year."

"Then you know how uncomfortable it can be. Magnify this by at least a thousand and that's what Miss Brown experienced last night...and will probably experience _at least_ one night a month for the rest of her life.

Millicent frowned. "_Probably_?"

"Well, Wolfsbane Potion is supposed to prevent the extremely dangerous dementia, which would otherwise accompany the transformation from human into werewolf. For _some_, it also prevents the person from physically turning as well...unless he or she actually sets eyes on the moon. It does, however, take a very strong constitution to fight off the change. The dementia is more easily controlled, but the changing is _much_ harder to resist and...I'm not sure Miss Brown will _ever_ be strong enough. In time she may be able to resist on the day prior and/or following the full moon, but I doubt she'll ever master this on the night of the actual full moon. It's _extremely_ difficult."

"I see. And the pain?" Millicent queried. "Behind my father's back, my mother insisted that I take Muggle pain relievers during my growing pains...couldn't Lavender take something like this?"

"Hmm. That's an interesting idea. I will definitely talk to Madam Pomfrey about it," the older woman said. "Thank you for the suggestion, Miss Bulstrode."

Millicent nodded. "So...Lavender is fine?"

Headmistress McGonagall shrugged. "As fine as one can be after such a transition. She's exhausted and still in a fair bit of pain, but she will survive."

"Are...are visitors allowed?" the dark-haired young woman asked with uncertainty. "I mean...I—"

"I can see that you're concerned, dear," the headmistress interrupted. "And that is admirable, as far as I'm concerned...especially since the two of you have been thrown together after years and years of animosity between Gryffindor House and Slytherin House. You are putting forth a valiant effort and I am tremendously proud of you."

Millicent smiled tentatively, her cheeks turning slightly pink. She'd never thought such words could or would come out of McGonagall's mouth—not directed at her, anyway—and was strangely pleased to hear them. "Thank you," she finally whispered.

"You are very welcome. And yes, you may go visit Miss Brown, if you wish," the old woman said. "But please, keep it short and try not to upset her in any way. She did, after all, have a hard night, is still experiencing some discomfort, and is likely to be _exceptionally_ moody."

"Of course, Headmistress," Millicent agreed, still smiling. Normally, such a warning would have angered the ex-Slytherin, but not today—not when she was feeling such pride over the headmistress' compliment.

The headmistress issued the young woman a rare smile, then said, "Now, I don't want to be rude, but I am quite exhausted as well, so...is there anything else I can do for you before you go?"

Millicent frowned again. "Um. Actually, there _is_ one more thing. I...um..."

Headmistress McGonagall watched her curiously, then spoke when Millicent didn't seem like she was going to say anything. "You can tell me anything, dear," she said. "That is what I'm here for."

Taking a deep breath, Millicent nodded. "I'm...I'm already an Animagus," she said.

The headmistress' eyes widened. "Oh! Well that's...fantastic. Can I assume that you're telling me this because you're willing to help out with Miss Brown?"

Millicent nodded. "I was unsure at first, but...yes, I think I would be willing. She _is_ my roommate, after all, and...she's not been _that_ horrible to live with."

The older woman fought off a smirk. "I'm well aware that finishing this final year has been, and will continue to be, difficult for all of you, but I would like, once again, to express my gratitude that all of you are working so hard. Not _one_ of you has lost your house points after that one incident between Mr. Corner and Mr. Finch-Fletchly and everyone _seems_ to be adjusting."

"Yes, Headmistress. We are all trying," Millicent said with a nod. "Even Draco and Potter are bickering less."

"That is wonderful," the older woman said. "And a miracle too. Never thought I'd see the day."

Millicent nodded her agreement, but didn't say anything.

"Now, back to business. What is your Animagus form, dear?"

Millicent blinked. "Right. A black bear."

"Oh. This is excellent!" Headmistress exclaimed with uncharacteristic happiness. "A very safe form to have. Large and strong. May I ask when you became an Animagus?"

"Of course. It happened quite by accident," the young woman said, "I was out with a friend during Christmas holiday last year and was stopped by some Snatchers. Our names weren't on their lists, because we were in Slytherin House, but...they didn't believe we were who we said we were. We were terrified, so we ran. My father had been trying to teach me...he's one too...so I just kept chanting the incantation and...I changed." She shrugged. "Scared my friend half to death, but she's smart and quickly figured it out. I stopped just long enough for her to climb on my back, then I took off again. When we got far enough away, I stopped, transfigured back, then Apparated us to her house. Her parents were furious and...I haven't seen her since the war ended."

"That's a remarkable story, Miss Bulstrode," the headmistress said. "You and your friend were very lucky.

Millicent nodded. "I know."

"And, I'm sure that will change...the part about not seeing your friend. It was hard time and people are still quite scared even though it's over. It won't last forever."

"No, I suppose not," Millicent said.

"Just give her some time," said the headmistress. "Time heals."

"That's what my mother said too."

The old woman pursed her lips. "So, are you registered then?"

Millicent nodded. "I told my parents what happened when I got home and, after the war had ended, my father insisted upon it."

"It was the right thing to do, of course," the old woman said. "I'm glad we won't have to pretend with you."

"Me too."

"Well, this seems fairly settled to me. You may visit Lavender any time during her three days and you will be safe doing it. If, at any time, you do not wish to be there, then all you have to do is let me know...preferably prior to sunset, of course."

Millicent shook her head. "No, Headmistress, I won't change my mind. You can count on me."

"Thank you, dear."

Millicent gave the woman a brief nod, then left her office—and headed for the hospital wing.

**XxXxXxX**

The next morning, when Lavender woke up—in the dungeon-like room she'd been _locked in_ for her change—she was, once again, stark _naked_! It was the same as the morning before, but today she was cuddled in the fur of an enormous sleeping black bear.

For a moment, she just lay there, comfortable and...relieved that two of her three nights were over—but then she realized _who_ she was lying snuggled up against.

_Millicent Bulstrode_! Lavender burst internally as she slowly and carefully disentangled herself from the girl—BEAR!—then quickly moved her naked arse toward the end of the room that was spelled to _look like_ a plain stone wall. Placing both of her human hands on the two specific stones on the wall, the spell broke, causing a door to appear. Reaching for the door handle, Lavender turned it and pulled, then disappeared into the room on the other side. It was a large changing room with many articles of clothing, connected with a nice-sized bathroom. Quickly selecting a jumper, a warm pair of sweat pants, and the appropriate undergarments, Lavender headed into the washroom and turned on the shower to nearly scalding. It really was much too hot, therefore causing Lavender's skin to turn an angry red, but she felt dirty and needed this. After scrubbing her entire body head to toe, she shut off the water and stepped out.

But then, when she looked into the mirror—the room was apparently spelled so it didn't fog up—she gasped, then burst into tears. There were scratches crisscrossing her thighs and arms, and even one running from her left shoulder, over her breast to her stomach—she was now a scarred woman.

Lavender didn't know how long she'd been standing there—naked—staring at how she'd marked herself up, but shrieked when she noticed she was no longer alone in the room.

"Go away!" she screamed as she ducked back into the shower to hide herself from the black-haired young woman who'd stayed with her all night. "I'm naked!"

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Nothing I haven't seen before, Brown. I _am_ a girl too, you know," she said—then snapped the curtain open and yanked the blonde out. "You must be exhausted. Let me help you get dressed."

Not saying a word—though tears were pouring down her face—Lavender allowed herself to be pulled and didn't fight when the other woman gently slid on first her panties and then her bra.

"Lift your arms," Millicent instructed—and Lavender did, allowing the ex-Slytherin to pull the jumper over her head. "Better?"

Lavender nodded, but shivered.

"Here, put these on," Millicent said, handing the blonde the pair of fleece bottoms.

After Lavender had done that, Millicent took her hand and brought her out of the bathroom and back into the room they'd spent the night in, then pushed her into a comfortable-looking chair and helped her to put some socks on her bare feet.

"How's that? Warmer?"

Lavender nodded. "Much better."

Pursing her lips, Millicent picked up a brush. "Sit back so I can brush your hair."

Lavender once again did as she was bid, then closed her eyes as the other woman pulled her hair to hang over the back of the chair and started to carefully brush through the long, wet mass of blond tangles. It took so long that Lavender actually dozed off during the process, but came right awake when the brushing stopped.

"Thank you," she whispered after reaching up to find her hair neatly woven into a French braid.

"Don't mention it."

"No, really...thanks," she repeated. But when the other woman didn't respond, Lavender had to say something. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Is it a _crime_ for me to be nice?" Millicent snapped.

Feeling her eyes burn with tears, Lavender glanced away. "No, of course not," she said. "You're just not usually...nice to me."

"I'm not usually nice to anyone."

Gazing at the dark-haired young woman, Lavender tried to recall whether she'd ever seen the ex-Slytherin display some sort of niceties—toward anyone—but she could not. "You'd have a lot more friends if you were a bit more pleasant," she finally said.

Millicent narrowed her eyes. "I don't _give a fuck_ about friends, Brown. I'm here to finishing my schooling and that's all. Once I'm done here, I don't care whether I ever see any of these people again."

Lavender frowned "What about Pansy? _She's_ your friend."

"Well yes, but...we're not really all that close."

"Why not?"

"Because we're not, Brown!" Millicent snapped. "Do you think that, just because we were both in the same year in Slytherin House, we'd be best friends forever?"

Lavender shrugged. "Well no, but—"

"Are you best friends with Granger?"

Lavender shook her head. "No."

"So why all the bloody questions about friends?"

The blonde shrugged again. "I don't know...just curious, I guess."

"Well, you know what curiosity did to the kneazle, right?"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "You know what, Bulstrode? I suspect that you're not as tough as you like people to think you are."

Millicent glared at her. "Well, you can _suspect_ anything you want, Brown...doesn't make it true."

"So, no friends then. That's..._sad_," Lavender said.

Millicent huffed. "My only real friend didn't come back this year. Happy now?"

"Of course not. And I'm sorry. What's her name?" the blonde asked.

"Tracey. Tracey Davis," the dark-haired young woman blurted before she could catch herself. "Now...shut it, Brown!"

"Do you have to be so rude and unfriendly?"

"I told you I'm not concerned with having lots friends."

Lavender frowned. "Right. Sorry."

Millicent shrugged—as if she didn't care one way or the other.

"Anyway...thank you," Lavender said, "You didn't have to stay with me, you know."

Millicent frowned. "I know that," she said. "And before you ask, I don't do anything I don't want to do, so...yeah."

Lavender was confused, but she nodded. "Well, thank—"

"Oh, for _Salazar's_ sake, Brown, please don't thank me _again_!" the dark-haired woman all but snarled. "Just accept that I was here by choice and that's it! Nothing more, nothing less. There's nothing to over think here! All right?"

The blonde nodded. "Okay."

"Now, you should eat, take your potions, then take a nap...you were up all night."

Without another word, Lavender moved toward a kitchen-sized eating table in the corner of the room and sat down. The room had been empty all night—so there would be nothing for her to destroy, she assumed—but was now nicely furnished. There was a large four-poster nestled between two night tables at one end of the room, a floral settee facing the comfortable chair and a side table at the room's center, several bookcases and a desk and chair in one corner, and the small dining table now filled with food against a wall. It was a perfect room, as far as Lavender was concerned and she wished she never had to leave.

"Stop moping, Brown," Millicent scolded as she pulled out a second chair and sat down. "You'll get through this."

Lavender's eyes filled again. "How can you say that? For the rest of my life I'm going to have to worry that I'll bite someone and turn them into what I am...or kill them. I'm a gruesome monster!"

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Merlin, you Gryffindorks are _so_ dramatic! Lighten up, would you! You'll figure out what you have to do and make sure neither of those things happen...just like most other werewolves do."

Lavender frowned, then reached for some sausage. Meat! It looked delicious!

"Besides, it's _only_ three nights a month," Millicent continued as she too started filling her plate. She was tired from their long night as werewolf and Animagus as well, but, food being a huge part of her life, she wanted to eat before she slept. "Anyone can do something for three measly nights."

"Pfft!" the blond scoffed. "Three excruciatingly _painful_ nights!"

Millicent forced herself not to shudder, because she didn't want the blonde to know how disturbing it had been. She'd watched the ex-Gryffidor's transition the night before and couldn't even _imagine_ the pain that the other young woman must have been in. "Again with the dramatics, Brown. The pain does _not_ last the entire night; it only took you fifty-seven seconds to change."

Lavender scowled. "Well, it might as well last the entire three days...feels like it!"

Millicent watched the blonde eat for a minute—she ate like some dainty old lady, not a ferocious werewolf—then focused and asked a question. "Does it hurt to change back too?"

Lavender shrugged. "I don't remember changing back, so...I guess not."

"You must have been too exhausted to remain conscious during that part."

Lavender nodded. "Not being one hundred percent in control of myself is bad enough, but I wish it didn't have to hurt so much," she said as she took a small nibble of her toast.

"About that...I talked McGonagall yesterday. She and Madam Pomfrey are going to work on that little problem."

Lavender frowned. "How do you mean?" she asked, ignoring the 'little problem' comment; there was nothing _little_ about her _problem_.

"Well, back when I was twelve, I experienced some pretty bad growing pains," she said, her mouth half full of bacon. "Nothing like what you're going through obviously, but I grew six inches over that summer and could hardly sleep at night due to the pain in my legs."

Lavender sat up straighter. "What did you do?"

"My mum, who's somewhat of a wimp," she said with a bit of disgust, "gave me some Muggle pain pills. They worked fairly well. Not sure they'd be enough to help you, but...well, when I told McGonagall about it, she seemed interested. She said she'd speak with Madam Pomfrey."

"Thank you...again."

Millicent shrugged. "It was the least I could do."

Lavender nodded, but couldn't fathom why the bulky ex-Slytherin was doing and saying the things she was. It seemed so out of character, but...she wasn't going to complain or argue about it; it was nice to have _someone_ here to help her.

The two girls ate the rest of their meal in silence, only speaking again when Lavender moved to get up.

"You should rest up for tonight," the dark-haired girl commented.

"That _is_ the plan...not that I could keep my eyes open much longer, even for all the Galleons on Gringotts."

Millicent snorted. "You're actually quite entertaining, Brown."

"I'll be here all week," Lavender joked. "Well, only until tomorrow, I guess."

Millicent didn't show it, but she was laughing on the inside at the usually-giggly girl attempt to lighten the mood. Lavender Brown was putting up a pretty strong exterior in the face of adversity. Yes, she'd cried a bit, but she _was_ trying to be her normal upbeat self. This was something Millicent could respect.

"Don't forget to take your potions before you go to sleep," she said to cover up that she was amused. For a moment she watched the blonde head toward the large bed—then she followed. "Here, let me get it," she said, opening a drawer in one of the night tables and pulling out several phials, then waiting for the other girl to sit herself down on the bed.

The blonde didn't argue as she consumed, first the Wolfsbane Potion, which was a lovely shade of turquoise, and then the murky light _serene_ green Calming Draught. She would have to take both again before the sun set, but this would help relax her enough to sleep _and_ continue to build up the Wolfsbane Potion in her system.

"Don't even say it, Brown," Millicent scolded when it looked like the blonde might thank her again. "Just get into the bloody bed and get some rest."

Lavender tried to scowl, but her face was still scrunched up from drinking the nasty potions, making her quite unable. "I'll thank you if I want to, Bulstrode!" she finally snapped when her facial muscles had stopped twitching—but she did climb into the bedding and lie down. "You can't stop me."

Millicent didn't comment, but she did roller her eyes as she yanked the covers up to Lavender's chin.

"How can something with such a pretty color taste so much like arse?" she complained as she swallowed over and over again, trying to remove the flavor from her mouth. "Not that I've _tasted_ arse, mind you."

Millicent couldn't help the laugh that came out of her at her roommate's words. "I wasn't even going to ask about that one, Brown," she said. "You Gryffindors are surprisingly...open to things I've never considered."

Rolling her eyes, Lavender shook her head. "You are _so_ full of shite!"

"Are you calling me a liar or suggesting something nefarious?"

"If the wand fits," the blonde countered.

Millicent glared for a second, then turned and headed for the door. "Get some sleep, Brown," she called over her shoulder.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Lavender burst, the nasty taste in her mouth a distant memory as she bolted upright when the other young woman had almost reached the door.

"Relax, Brown. I'll be back. I'm just going to go shower and change. I didn't bring a change of clothing and I'm _not_ going to wear the same thing two days in a row," the dark-haired young woman explained.

Lavender nodded and allowed herself to sink back into the bed—and was sound asleep before the door was even fully closed.

**XxXxXxX**

"_Fuck_, Malfoy!" Harry hollered across the pitch. "We've only got seven more scheduled practices before our first match a week from Saturday...stop messing around!"

Draco flew up beside his co-captain and hovered there. He should have been chasing the Snitch—he _knew_ this—but instead he'd fallen back to ogle Potter's arse. _And what I fine one it is_, Draco thought, pretending to be bored as he ignored Potter glaring at him. The messy-haired young man had noticed his interested gaze, but he hadn't _really_ noticed—not enough to know what Draco was doing.

"I'm quite adept at counting, Potter, no need to give me the numbers," he said without even glancing at the other young man. Instead, he sat there examining the fingernails of his left hand as he spoke.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you're going to be Seeker for our game against Gryffindor, then you _need_ to focus and listen to us," Harry ranted, his face red from both exertion and anger. "No one knows the Gryffindor team better than Ron and me, but all you want to do is fight us on every point."

"That is _so_ not fucking true!" the blond snapped.

Harry sighed. "You're even fighting me on _fighting me_! Do you want to win the match or not?!"

Heaving a sigh of his own, Draco looked at the other man. "Fine. What do you suggest, Potter?"

"Number one, Ginny's going to be _completely_ thrown by the fact that I'm not our Seeker," Harry said with a mischievous grin. "She knows the way I do things, because she's played with me for years."

"I bet," Draco quipped suggestively.

"Not like that, you prat!" Harry snapped—which caused the blond to snicker.

"You're so easy to rile up, Potter," the blond said. "And, I'm fully aware that you and she aren't _playing_ together; you've made that _abundantly_ clear."

Harry flushed. "Do you think you could at least _try_ to focus?" he asked, clearly frustrated.

Scowling, Draco said, "Of course...I _can_. I just very much enjoy pissing you off. More suggestions, oh dear Chosen One?"

Harry ground his teeth; he hated it when people—anyone—used epithets for him. He was, after all, just an average person—despite what he'd been forced into due to circumstance of which he'd had no control. "Number _two_, Gin's going to _furious_ with me for not giving her a heads up on this."

"As far as _I'm_ concerned, the little bint ought to be giving _you_ a little head—"

"_MALFOY_!" Harry growled. "Enough of the sexual innuendo where Ginny's concerned!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're such a prude."

"And _stop_ calling her names!" Harry continued.

"Weaselette's okay though, right?" Draco pushed. "I mean, she did tell me personally that it's all right, so..."

Harry was nearly shaking now, so frustrated with Malfoy he was. "_Yes_! Weaselette is fine...if she said it is, but—"

"_Fantastic_!" the blond exclaimed, effectively cutting Harry off. "So, about her impending fury...why _the fuck_ would she think you'd give her, the _enemy_, our team's personal private game plans, Potter?"

"She's not my enemy, Malfoy," Harry corrected him.

"And apparently not your girlfriend either, so...again I ask, why would you tell her, or any other Gryffindork, what the bloody fuck we're doing?"

Harry frowned. It felt like Malfoy was turning his words upside down and backward. "I'm not sure why you're going on about this. I've told her nothing and that's why she's going to be angry. She will think that I _should_ have told her...or that Ron should have, because he's her brother and I'm—"

"Her husband-to-be," Draco finished for him.

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy!" Harry snapped. Throwing his arms up the air angrily as he spoke, Harry immediately had to re-balance himself on his broom—then he glared at the blond. "Couldn't you _please_ just knock it off?!" he barked.

Sitting calmly on _his_ broom, Draco fought the urge to smirk; he was quite enjoying the sight of Potter's emerald green eyes flashing passionately. "Just because she wants to be told everything, or thinks she _should be_, doesn't mean that that's what's going to happen."

"That's what I was _trying_ to convey, Malfoy, but you seem intent on annoying the shite out of me. I haven't and won't tell her our strategies...and _that's_ why she's going to be upset."

"Fine then," Draco huffed. "Number two. Weaselette's going to be furious that you didn't tell her you won't be Seeker."

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

"Go on then."

"Number three, _everyone's_ going to be shocked that I'm not going to be playing in this match _at all_," Harry informed the other young man.

"Well, of course they will," Draco began. "Wait! _What_?!"

"I'm not playing in the match," Harry repeated.

"When did _we_ decide on _this_ little change?" asked the blond, obviously not happy.

Harry shrugged. "I talked to Quincy last night and he said he could do it."

"But—"

"Malfoy, my other position is Beater, but I'm only the third best Beater on the team...so it figures that Michael and Ernie should take those slots and that I'll have to sit this one out. I'm fine with it."

Draco shook his head. "Well, _I'm_ not! You're one of the best Quidditch players in the school, you should be playing!"

"A compliment...from _you_, Malfoy? I'm so flattered," Harry said with a smirk.

Draco ignored him. "Play Chaser then," he instead suggested.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not even among the top five Chasers in our house. How's that fair to the others?"

"I don't give a fuck about what's _fair_, Potter!" Draco snarled. "I want to win."

"We _will_ win," the dark-haired young man said confidently.

"Be our Seeker then," Draco offered, almost desperately. "I'm the best Chaser we have, so I'll stick to that. We can just keep the team as it was originally planned."

Once again, Harry shook his head. "Our original plan was for you to be the Seeker during the Gryffindor match, so we should _stick to that_. I'll just captain the team for this game."

Draco frowned.

"That brings me to number four. I've been watching Gryffindor practice. They have a decent team, but only two alternates, who aren't very good."

Draco's frown evaporated as his interest in Gryffindor players was piqued. "So, if we take out their two best players, then they'd have to use those two bad players instead."

Even though it was Harry who'd changed the subject, it took him a moment to wrap his mind around the blond's abrupt shift in demeanor. Blinking, he shook his head. "First of all, I said the _alternates_ aren't great, not the rest of the team. You know as well as I do that Gryffindor always manages to put a first-rate team on the pitch."

"_That's_ debatable."

Ignoring the blond's rude comment, Harry continued. "Secondly, when I said the alternates weren't _good_, I didn't mean that they're _bad_. Third,—"

"Same thing," Draco interrupted.

"Not _at all_ the same, you git! They're just inexperienced, but they have as much potential as anyone else," Harry argued. "And third, I _told_ you we're not going to play dirty, so there'll be no _taking out players_."

Draco snorted. "Come _on_, Potter, do you want to win the match or not?" the blond asked, throwing Harry's earlier words back at him.

"Of course, but it would mean nothing if we cheated to get the win."

"Using all available resources is _not_ cheating," Draco argued.

"Hurting people to win _is_ cheating," Harry argued.

"We don't have to damage them _too_ much, just enough to—"

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, can't you _just_ be normal?!"

Scoffing, Draco said, "I have never been, nor will I ever be, _normal_, Potter, so you should just get the thought out of that messy little head of yours."

"_That's_ for sure," Harry grumbled almost under his breath—just as they were joined by the rest of the team.

"What's going on here?" Ron asked. "Malfoy giving you trouble, Harry?"

Looking at his best mate, Harry said, "Isn't he always?"

"Oh _sure_, blame me...because it's _always_ my fault, right?" Draco said with a sneer.

Ron glared at the blond. "What the fuck's your problem, Ferret?"

"No problem here, _Weasel_," the blond said. "Potter here thinks I'm suggesting that we cheat to win."

"You _did_ suggest taking out Gryffindor's best players to force them to use their alternates."

"Oi!" Ron burst, still glaring. "My sister's their best player, Malfoy...you saying you want to harm her."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine! I'll keep it clean."

"You had better!" Ron growled.

"And I promise not the harm your precious sister."

"You better not!"

"I suppose you all know that Potter's not planning on playing in the match a week from Saturday," Draco informed everyone, hoping he might get the other man in some trouble.

"What!" Ron burst, but everyone else nodded. "_Why_?"

"We went over this, Ron. Malfoy will play Seeker, because—"

"Because Potter doesn't want to play against your sister," Draco threw out.

Harry glared at the blond. "Shut it, Malfoy!" he said, then looked at Ron again. "Malfoy is Seeker for this match and, since Quincy's the next best Chaser after him, Daphne, and Zacharias, he'll fill in as Chaser. And we'll have Michael and Ernie, our two best Beaters, playing, so...I'm out."

"But...but," Ron sputtered. "But—"

"That's what I said too...though, with a lot more eloquence," Draco interrupted, again examining his obviously well-manicured fingernails.

Sitting on his broom, Quincy flipped his long, tied back hair and said, "No worries, I've got this, Weasley."

Ron glanced at the ex-Ravenclaw, and then at everyone else—as if he'd forgotten they were all there—then shrugged. "Yeah...whatever. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Relieved, Harry smiled. He'd been expecting Ron to blow up and was pleasantly surprised that his friend had so calmly capitulated. It wasn't really like Ron to give up so easily, but Harry was glad that there'd be no scene. And so was everyone else, it seemed. It helped that Quincy Rivers had improved so much. Tremendously, in fact—and he was thrilled that he was going to get to play. Over the last few weeks, Harry'd been watching all of them practice quite closely. He'd been especially interested in Quincy's abilities since he was next in line to play Chaser. They'd worked together some, but mostly the other young man had been practicing on his own. And he really was very good.

"So _Captain_," Draco said after watching Harry for a few moments. "You gonna get us ready to crush Gryffindor?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's take it easy on the _crushing_, Malfoy."

"You're absolutely no fun, Potter!" the blond hollered after the retreating ex-Gryffindor.

**XxXxXxX**

Millicent managed to make it through the common room and up into the room she shared with Lavender without anyone stopping her. At least _half_ their house was likely down on the Quidditch pitch, but it was Pansy—who probably _wouldn't_ be down there—whom she wanted to avoid at the moment. Pansy already wasn't happy about the secret they were keeping from her and Millicent didn't want to make it any worse by lying to her on top of that. She intended to speak to Lavender about this as soon as possible. As annoying as the blonde girl could be, this was _her_ business and Millicent didn't want to say anything to anyone—including Pansy—without the other girl's express consent. But she didn't like keeping things from her friend or hiding from her to avoid questions. And so she hoped the former Gryffindor would understand and give her permission to tell Pansy what they were up to.

Sighing wearily, because she too was exhausted from the long night of no sleep, the dark-haired young woman gathered a fresh set of clothing, then stripped down and headed into her washroom to shower. Tired though she was, she moved quickly—and in just thirty minutes she was dressed again and on her way back out.

But not before picking up a few of Lavender's favorite things. Going into the blonde's trunk, Millicent took out the repulsive pink jumper that Lavender wore—ad nauseam—and a gaudy pair of pink fuzzy socks that Millicent often made fun of. Then, from her roommate's bed, she gathered the former Gryffindor's most used pillow—a pink and purple fringe-covered puff—a violet-colored throw blanket so tattered that it was any wonder it was still in one piece, and the girl's over-stuffed lilac-scented unicorn. After that, Millicent let her eyes sweep the room to see if there was anything else she should take to make Lavender feel more at home in the dungeon-like changing room. Immediately, her eyes fell on a framed photograph on the other girl's night table; it was of her—in her hideous pink sweater—holding her pet bunny Binky. Quickly, Millicent picked it up, then gathered her roommate's mail. There was a letter from her parents and one from her best friend, Parvati Patil, whose handwriting Millicent easily recognized at this point—and a small care package, also from the blonde's parents.

Feeling like she had enough, Millicent shrunk all the things she'd collected, then went to the door and, putting her ear to it, listened for anything that meant someone was afoot. She heard nothing and so opened the door—but just a crack. Glancing out, she also _saw_ nothing—and so she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. From where she stood at the top of the stairs, Millicent couldn't hear or see anyone down in the common room—and so she hurried down and out.

* * *

><p>And, for <strong>Frederick todd<strong>, who _adores_ my author's notes, here's another one for you:

**The Color Turquoise**

A combination of **blue** and a small amount of **yellow**, turquoise fits in on the color scale between green and blue. It radiates the **peace**, **calm** and **tranquility** of blue and the **balance** and **growth**of green with the uplifting energy of yellow.

XxX

The meaning of the color turquoise is open communication and **clarity of thought**.

Turquoise helps to open the lines of communication between the heart and the spoken word. It presents as a **friendly and happy color** enjoying life.

In color psychology, the color turquoise controls and heals the emotions creating **emotional balance and stability**. In the process it can appear to be on an emotional roller coaster, up and down, until it balances itself.

Turquoise **recharges our spirits during times of mental stress and tiredness**, alleviating feelings of loneliness. You only have to focus on the color turquoise, whether on a wall or clothing and you feel instant calm and gentle invigoration, ready to face the world again!

Turquoise is a great color to have around you, particularly in an emergency, as it **helps with clear thinking and decision-making**. It assists in the development of organizational and management skills. It influences rather than preaching and demanding.

The color turquoise is a good color to **aid concentration and clarity of thought** for public speakers as it **calms the nervous system**, gives control over speech and expression, and builds confidence. Print your speech notes on turquoise and every time you glance down you will feel the effects of the color.

Turquoise heightens levels of creativity and sensitivity. It is good at multi-tasking, becoming bored if forced to focus on one thing only. Sometimes its thinking can become scattered if surrounded by too much of this balancing color.

Turquoise **encourages inner healing** through its ability to enhance empathy and caring. It **heightens our intuitive ability** and opens the door to spiritual growth. It is the **color of the evolved soul**.

Turquoise can also be self-centered, tuning in to its own needs above all others. At the same time, it can help us to build our self-esteem and to love ourselves, which in turn supports our ability to love others unconditionally. At its most extreme it can be boastful and narcissistic.

Although turquoise is self-sufficient, it fears being alone and can become aloof and unapproachable when this occurs, making the situation worse.

Turquoise has strong powers of observation and perception and can be quite discriminating. It has the ability to identify the way forward, the way to success, balancing the pros and cons, the right and wrong, of any situation. It is a good color to use when you are stuck in a rut and don't know which way to move.

Turquoise can sometimes be impractical and idealistic and remote from emotional reactions, appearing excessively cool, calm and collected.

Too much turquoise in your life may give you an overactive mind and create emotional imbalance, making you either over-emotional or non-emotional.

Too little turquoise in your life may cause you to withhold your emotions, resulting in secrecy and confusion about your direction in life.

From a negative perspective, the meaning of the color turquoise relates to being either over-emotional or non-emotional, lacking communication skills, being unreliable and deceptive.

**Positive and Negative Traits of Turquoise**

Positive keywords include communication, clarity of thought, balance and harmony, idealism, calmness, creativity, compassion, healing and self-sufficiency.

Negative keywords include boastfulness, secrecy, unreliability and reticence, fence-sitting, aloofness, deception and off-handedness.

**The Color Turquoise Represents**

**Communication**: Turquoise represents open communication from and between the heart and the spoken word. It relates to the electronic age and the world of computers, and communication on a large scale.

**Emotional Control**: Being the mid color between the extremes of red and violet, turquoise is the color of balance, for the emotions, thoughts and speech.

**Self-Sufficiency**: Turquoise has the ability to tune into its own needs and find the way to success.

**Effects of the Color Turquoise**

**Clarity of Thought**: Turquoise enhances the ability to focus and concentrate, assisting with clear thinking and decision-making, and the development of good organizational skills.

**Calming**: Turquoise is calming yet invigorating, restoring depleted energies.

**Non-emotional**: A negative effect of turquoise is that it can cause people to be too aloof and to hide their emotional reactions.

**Variations of the Color Turquoise**

**Aqua**: Closer to green than blue, aqua is refreshing and uplifting. It is creative and light-hearted, yet strong and individual.

**Aquamarine**: Enhancing creativity and inspiration, the color aquamarine calms and balances the mind and the emotions.

**Teal**: A more sophisticated version of turquoise, teal signifies trustworthiness and reliability. It promotes spiritual advancement and commitment.


	21. Eighths vs Gryffindor

x-X-x

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

Lori94 (8/22/12) – I'm glad Millicent agreed to help out. Lavender really needs her friends! ******* Yes, she does! Lavender, I mean. And, obviously I'm not making Millicent as bad as she seems in the books...or the rest of the Slytherin kids, for that matter. Times have changed...and so have people.**

Demitea (8/28/12) – Just found Ur story! :) I love it! Loving the suttle drarry progression :) and I love Ur authors notes, I love the facts u throw in :) great story! Can't wait for more! Update soon! ******* Thank you so much, dear...so nice to hear. *grin***

Mazabm (9/6/12) – Wow, turquoise.. . Great job! As usual cant wait for that match! Why is Harry so clueless?! Keep updating. ******* I'm not sure why Harry's so clueless, but...it's fun to write…his cluelessness, I mean. Hehe.**

Phoenixgirl26 (9/8/12) – sorry I haven't reviewed each chapter, so I'll start now. I love the story and enjoying it very much, and of course it has me laughing a lot. The bickering between draco and harry is hilarious, good work. ******* Thank you, thank you! And, no problem...about your lack of reviews. I like them, of course, but would never whine about not getting them. Some people don't like to write them and others are too busy. I usually write a lot of them, but sometimes I get lazy and don't. *sigh***

JustAboveYourAverageSlytheri n (9/22/12) – I NOTICED! I did greek mythology last year, and I thought when I read her name, "gah, her parents must've HATED her..."! lol ******* Have you read the new information (back story) about McGonagall on Pottermore? I've included NONE of it in my story, but it's great to read more about her. BTW...I'm NightQueen21779 on Pottermore!**

JustAboveYourAverageSlytheri n (9/22/12) – I think I'm a bit messed up... Started chuckling about the car skinning thing... crack myself up. Anywhozle, sweet story. ******* Thank you, love...and I appreciate that you took the time to review...three times!**

JustAboveYourAverageSlytheri n (9/22/12J) – Every time Draco says "fabulous!" I think of Sharpey from HSM and him wearing a lot of pink, including a Kurt Hummel-style beret. ******* Like I already told you (in a PM), I had no idea what you were talking about here, but...looked it up and now I do. Lol. I love learning something new! =)**

**Author's Note**

Hi all...sorry it's been so long. My only excuse is that I've been reading and not writing. *sigh*

Okay, here's **Chapter Twenty-one**...

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>3 November, 2012

**Word Court: **4,856

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Twenty-one**

"**Eighths vs. Gryffindor"**

The Quidditch match against Gryffindor hadn't gone well. In fact, it was a _disaster_. The Eighths _did_ eventually win, in the end, but not without some struggle—and a couple injuries. Ron was their first casualty. Twenty minutes in he took a Bludger to his thigh, the hit breaking, first his femur—with a sickening crack—and then his broom, immediately sending him careening to the ground. The game was stopped briefly, he was gathered up, and quickly carted off to the hospital wing.

At that point there'd almost been a fight. The Eighths were furious, because it was obvious that Gryffindor had intentionally sent the Bludger at their red-haired Keeper—though the lions vehemently denied it. Draco, Ernie, and Michael were demanding that the game be rescheduled, so that they would have a Keeper—because the rules stated that "no substitution of a player is allowed during a game"—but Madam Hooch shook her head and said they'd have to continue on with one less player. Michael then asked Madam Hooch to at least call a foul on Gryffindor for _Bumphing_—because hitting the Bludger toward a Keeper was against the rules—but that too was refused, because apparently the Quaffle was within the scoring area. Gryffindor, of course, was pleased by all this, but the Eighths continued to argue—quite loudly—until Harry stepped in and ordered his team to back off. He was thankful—and surprised—that they listened to him.

Ginny, on the other hand, had kept her mouth shut during the commotion, but she was not _at all_ pleased with the turn of events—Gryffindor did _not_ cheat!—and she was surprised that the match wasn't called off due to her brother's injury. Ron had been conscious when they'd taken him away, but he didn't look good. She would have preferred that the game was stopped so she could accompany him to the hospital wing, but was thankful when she saw Hermione making her way out of the stands to go up to the castle with Ron. After watching them take him off the pitch, she ripped into her Beater.

"Why _the hell_ did you do that, Jimmy?" she growled.

The boy shrugged. "Ah. _I wanna win_."

Ginny shook her head. "That's not the way Gryffindor does things. You're gonna be sorry you did it."

"Oh _please_, Ron'll be fine and...it's not fair anyway; they're all older than us."

"Only by a _year_," she hissed at her teammate as they were moving back into their positions. "It's not a big deal. Plus, Harry's been playing against older players since he was eleven. If he can do it, then so can—"

"Yeah, yeah, we know...youngest Quidditch player in a century." Peakes rolled his eyes. "So what!" he snapped.

Ginny frowned. "Didn't you see their faces?" she asked nervously. Not much worried Ginny Weasley, but she'd seen how angry Ron and Harry's teammates were—Draco Malfoy and Ernie Macmillan in particular—and really didn't like raising their ire...not that she particularly liked either boy. She had a bit of a truce going with Malfoy and she didn't really know the former Hufflepuff boy, but still. And she'd seen the faces of their other housemates—the ones in the stands—they didn't look very happy either.

Her Beater only scoffed at her worried expression.

"And, did you have to take out _my_ brother?"

"He'll survive."

Ginny frowned at this, hardly believing the boy's flippant attitude. "Regardless...try something like that again and you're off the team!"

He stared at her for a second, then... "You can't do that?"

"I most certainly _can_! I'm the captain!" the red-haired girl countered. And, when Peaks continued to just stare at her, Ginny continued. "Yeah, you heard me!" she growled. "Gryffindor has never been a bunch of cheaters and we're not starting now. Got it?!"

His eyes wide now, Jimmy Peakes nodded.

"Good! Now, get your arse out there and play fair," she ordered—then flew off. She was embarrassed that it was her player who'd essentially cheated _and_ angry that it was her brother who'd been injured. All around, it felt wrong to her.

The subsequent result of the Eighths being without a Keeper was that Gryffindor started scoring like mad. At first the Eighths tried to just keep the Quaffle away from the other team and at the other end of the pitch. It didn't take long, however, for them to realize this wasn't working. Gryffindor quickly added seventy points to their score. Frustrated, Draco ordered Zacharias to tend the goals—much to the ex-Hufflepuff's unset, because he felt he should be chasing. Zacharias' immediate response was to fly over to where Harry was watching on the sidelines—to complain—but Harry only told him to follow his co-captain's orders. In the meantime, Gryffindor scored two more times.

The next person to suffer an injury, minor though it was, was Michael Corner. It was strange really. He wasn't hit by a Bludger or anything, but he somehow got himself tangled up with two of Gryffindor's Chasers and ended up flat on his back on the ground, in the center of the pitch, eyes glazed over from the fall—or so they believed. This time it appeared to be an accident, but the Eighths, who were clearly still bristling from the loss of their Keeper, weren't shy about voicing their discontent. Madam Hooch didn't stand for their grumbling though and quickly shut them up.

After Michael was cleared away and the game was restarted, Quincy pretty much had to join Ernie to keep the Bludgers away from the other players—leaving Daphne as their sole Chaser. Being fairly decent, the blonde was able to score a few times, but she just couldn't keep up with the three Gryffindor Chasers, who were scoring right and left against a very frustrated Zacharias Smith. Aggravated and _angry_, Ernie sent a Bludger right at the Gryffindor who'd taken out Ron and, though the iron ball didn't hit the Gryffindor Beater, the action earned Ernie a satisfied smirk from Draco Malfoy. They were, after all, a team now.

However, in the moment it took Jimmy Peakes to avoid the Bludger, then right himself on his broom—earning an _I told you so_ look from Ginny Weasley—Draco managed to spot and acquire the Snitch, giving the win, by a score of 190-180, to the Eighths.

A groan could be heard from the stands as an announcement was made—Gryffindor House was _not_ pleased, to say the least—but there were cheers as well. Slytherin was _thrilled_ to see Gryffindor lose their first match, because _that_ didn't happen often. The only thing that would have made Gryffindor's loss any better was that if Slytherin had beat them themselves. Ravenclaw hoped that meant _they_ had a better chance at the cup this year. And Hufflepuff was just cheering because they thought the Eighths had played a good match despite adversity.

**XxXxXxX**

Still dressed in their Quidditch uniforms, all of the Eighths present and most of the Gryffindor team—because Ginny insisted—trudged up to the hospital wing to see how the injured players were doing. Ginny was angry about the loss, but even more furious about the shenanigans pulled by her team.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I am...I just—"

"Save it, Jimmy!" the redhead snapped. "I _told_ you, prior to the match, that Harry _promised_ his team would play fair. But you just _had_ to fuck with them, didn't you?!"

"Nice language, Weaslette," Draco chimed in with a smirk.

"You shut it too, Malfoy!" Ginny snarled. "I don't need help from the peanut gallery!"

Draco chuckled—but stifled it when he received an elbow to the ribs.

"Come on, Gin...I'm sure Ron's fine," Harry put in as he glared at the blond beside him.

Ginny shook her head. "Not the point, Harry. You said you guys would play fair, but I didn't even _consider_ that I was surrounded by a bunch of twats on my own team. And you guys _still_ beat us!" she griped.

Draco snorted. "Only by ten points. It was sheer luck!" He'd take the win, of course, but didn't like that it had been so hard and that the score was so damned close. Like he'd just said, they were lucky that he'd seen and captured the Snitch when the Gryffindor Seeker was otherwise occupied by her idiot teammates and lucky that they'd managed to have just the right amount of points previous to his snag to secure the win.

This only got him another glare from Harry's little woman. "Don't make me hex you, Malfoy," she threatened—but the blond knew she was just frustrated and had no intention of hexing him or anyone else, despite her ranting. Well, she _might_ be considering a hex or two toward her own team, but that didn't matter to him.

When they reached the hospital wing, both Ron and Michael were laid out on beds side by side, but neither looked any worse for the wear. Ron's leg was immobilized and already healing, as were the various other wounds he'd sustained in the fall, but he had a rough night ahead of him. Michael, however, seemed to be unconscious.

After a brief glance at the injured, Ginny looked at Madam Pomfrey. "What's wrong with him?" she asked as she pointed her finger at the prone figure of Michael Corner.

"I gave Mr. Corner a Sleeping Draught; seems he's picked up a bug," the older woman said. "Shouldn't have been flying around out there in that weather at all. What is wrong with you kids?"

Ron rolled his eyes, as did several others—everyone knew what Madam Pomfrey thought of Quidditch.

"You're both _off the team_," the school healer continued. "At least until I give you the okay to play again."

Ron groaned, but Morag MacDougal grinned. "That mean I get to play?"

Harry smiled. "Absolutely."

The young woman's smile turned nervous.

"Don't worry, MacDougal, we'll train you up a bit before the next match," Draco put in.

At this Ron snorted and was about to say something rude, but Madam Pomfrey interrupted, saying visiting hours were over and that it was time for everyone to move along. Hermione and Ginny managed to talk the healer into letting them stay with Ron, but everyone else cleared out.

**XxXxXxX**

"So, what are we doing tonight?" Pansy asked as they reached the portrait in front of their common room. "I mean, it's Saturday and it's early and...it'll be a _long_ night if we just sit around for the rest of the day."

A few people nodded—actually, most of them did.

"Party?" Blaise suggested, a hopeful note to his voice.

There were many smiles.

Draco laughed. "That's your solution to _everything_, Blaise."

Blaise grinned. "Of course! You _know_ me."

"Yes, we _do_ know you...some of us know you quite well, in fact. But, I don't want to be cooped up in the common room," Pansy complained. "Let's hit Hogsmeade."

"Ooo, Three Broomsticks!" Lavender all but squealed—causing the former Slytherins to cringe. "Oh, come on guys...let's have some fun!"

"All right," Millicent quietly agreed as she surreptitiously watched her roommate. "I could use a drink. I'm in."

Blaise and Pansy glanced at one another, then shrugged. "Okay."

"Not me," said Daphne. "I'm worn out and...I'd like to work on some homework later."

Blaise laughed. "I'm sure Granger will be joining you as soon as she gets back from the hospital wing," he said—then he looked at Draco. "You coming?"

Draco frowned. "I...ahh...don't think so."

Most weren't sure what the problem was—even Blaise looked confused—but Harry figured it out right away. "I'm sure Madam Rosmerta won't mind," he said.

"I don't know," the blond said, clearly still feeling awful about casting an Unforgivable on the woman. "I'd prefer the Hog's Head."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Draco, that place is boring."

"Yeah...empty and painfully quiet," Pansy added.

Millicent shuddered. "And let's not forget how filthy it is in there."

The blond frowned. Boring and empty and quiet—and Rosmerta-free—sounded excellent at the moment, even if the place was a bit dirty—and dodgy. He didn't, however, relish the idea of seeing Aberforth Dumbledore either, after what he was supposed to have done to the man's brother. Everyone now knew that Draco had been ordered by the Dark Lord to kill Albus Dumbledore. They also knew that he wasn't the one who'd killed the man. But still...maybe he should just stay in the castle and let the others go off and have their fun.

"Oh, come on...I'll buy you a drink," Harry offered.

Draco snorted at this. "I can buy my own drinks, thank you very much!" he bristled.

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself, git," he said, then started for their shared room to change his clothes.

Also needing to change—because they'd not done so after the match—Draco moved to follow, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. It was Pansy.

"Hint," she whispered. "When the guy you'd like to fuck offers to buy you a drink, you _let_ him, you moron!" She rolled her eyes at him, then started up the stairs to her room.

**XxXxXxX**

The group entered The Three Broomsticks in what seemed to Draco Malfoy to be slow motion. Not really wanting to go in—and stalling as long as he could—he held the door open, letting everyone else enter before him, then almost turned tail and walked right back up to the castle. The only thing that stopped him was Harry _fucking_ Potter—who grabbed him firmly by elbow and literally dragged him into the establishment.

"Ouch!" he groused as he yanked his arm back from the messy-haired ex-Gryffindor. "Rough much?!"

"Come off it, Malfoy. I didn't grab you _that_ hard."

"That'll probably leave a bruise, Potter!" Draco continued to complain, rubbing the place where Harry's hand had held him—and thinking about the times when he would have threaten to tell his father.

Harry rolled his eyes. "So sorry to damage your dainty little limb, Malfoy. Didn't realize you were such a delicate flower," he said. "What are you, a girl?"

"No, but _some of us_ just finished a grueling Quidditch match, while others just sat around watching."

Harry laughed—because it was just like the blond to turn things around on him. "Maybe we should have tucked your arse into bed then," he teased.

This caused Pansy, who was standing right in front of them, to snicker—and mumble something under her breath about how much Draco wouldn't mind being tucked in if the right person were doing the tucking.

Clearly, Harry didn't comprehend the dark-haired young woman, but her words earned her a glare from Draco. Opening his mouth to fling out a sharp retort, the blond thought better of it when he noticed Madam Rosmerta glaring daggers at him. "I should...probably go," he said, regretting his decision to accompany the group.

Having seen the older woman's disgruntled look, Harry reached out and took Draco's sleeve. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his green eyes piercing Draco's gray ones—then he gave the man a gentle push toward Pansy, saying, "Don't let him leave," as he turned and smiled at the owner of the bar. "Hello, Madam Rosmerta," he said cheerfully. "Good to see you again." But, when the woman just raised a brow, Harry continued. "I think there are...ahh...twelve of us. Do you have room?"

Still eyeing the group wearily, it was clear the woman wanted to deny them a table. But, as there was plenty of space at this time of day and she obviously didn't want to start a quarrel with The Boy Who Lived after he'd saved the wizarding world, she nodded. Throwing one last glower at Draco, she waved them in. "Sure. Sit anywhere you'd like, Mr. Potter. Someone will be right with you."

Smiling broadly at the woman, Harry thanked her and followed his friends—they were already heading for a large table in the back.

"I bet she'd take you right upstairs if you poured it on any thicker, Potter," the blond said with a familiar sneer.

"Pfft! I just wanted us to be allowed in," Harry explained, then placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and pushed him—not so gently—into one of the chairs at one end of the table. "Now sit down and have a bloody drink! First round is on me," he declared.

Everything in Draco's being wanted to push back up to his feet and walk out, but Pansy must have seen it in his eyes and plopped herself right down onto his lap and grinned, first at Draco and then at Harry.

"That sounds _fabulous_, Potter," she said with a flip of her short dark hair. "I'm quite parched."

Rolling his eyes, Draco glanced around the table. Somehow Blaise had gotten himself sandwiched in between two ex-Gryffindors and, though Lila Malone wasn't too awful, Lavender Brown was talking up a storm. Strangely enough, on the blonde girl's other side, Millicent sat calmly and didn't look at all annoyed by the incessant chatter. In fact, she appeared to be avidly listening, as if there was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be—as was Blaise. With a frown, Draco shook his head and looked down the table at the others.

At the other end, Lila was laughing at something Sophie Roper had said, which had apparently caused Morag MacDougal and Mandy Brocklehurst to burst out laughing as well. Draco couldn't hear whatever it was that had been said, but wondered why everyone was getting along so well after years and years of discord.

Glancing to his left, he watched Potter talk to Quincy Rivers—with a mostly silent Zacharias Smith (prat!) to their left listening. _They_ were close enough to hear. The subject was Quidditch, of course, and Rivers was jubilant over the match—making Draco admit, if only to himself, that their fill-in guy had played quite well. That brought his thoughts to the fact that only three people who'd played in the match had come out for drinks; the made him wonder why the two uninjured players wouldn't want to be there after such a good win.

"So, good match, guys," Harry said once their drinks had arrived.

"Hear, hear!" Pansy agreed as she slid off Draco's lap and into her own chair next to his.

Shifting her attention, Millicent said, "I can't believe we won. You guys did great!"

"Good thing Draco caught the Snitch when he did though...it was only a matter of time before Gryffindor scored on Smith again," Pansy said, flashing an unreadable look down the table at the young man who'd taken over when their Keeper had been injured.

"Hey!" Zacharias burst. "I've never been a Keeper before and...I _told_ Malfoy to have someone else do it."

Draco opened his mouth—to put the prat in his place—but someone else beat him to it.

"Well, Daphne's a better Chaser than you are and not a great Keeper, so...we needed _you_ to tend the goals," Harry countered.

Zacharias frowned. "What about Quincy? He could have switched to Keeper."

Everyone's eyes went to Harry. What Zacharias said was true, so he nodded. "Yeah, 'could have,' being the operative words, but...that wasn't the choice that was made."

"That's why I went to you for confirmation, Harry," the former Hufflepuff, who no one seemed to care for, said.

Harry sighed, then downed his drink and set the glass on the table before speaking. "Let's get something straight right now...Malfoy and I call the shots. _We're_ the team captains. We all voted on it," he said with a gesture at everyone sitting there. "If one of us makes a change...no matter which one of us it is...then that's what goes."

"But—"

"No buts, Smith!" Harry snapped testily. "If you don't like it, then don't play. Got it?!"

"That's not fair!" the other young man continued to argue, his voice turning somewhat whiny—and grating.

"Would you just _shut it_, Zach!" Sophie Roper suddenly burst, her eyes narrowing on the young man sitting beside her. They'd both once been in Hufflepuff, so one might think they were friends, but...Zacharias Smith wasn't the easiest person to like, even for those who were extremely friendly. "_Clearly_, Harry's going to support whatever decision his co-captain has made and...if you're not careful, you're going to talk yourself out of a position on the team."

His jaw snapping closed, Zacharias blinked in surprise—then he silently picked up his drink and took a few swallows.

And that was the end of that!

**XxXxXxX**

After the second round of drinks, during a lull in conversation, Sophie suggested a Muggle drinking game called Quarters that she'd learned from her American cousin. Seeing that everyone was interested, she pulled out a Galleon—because no one had any Muggle money—and quickly demonstrated while explaining the rules.

"It's simple really. You bounce a Galleon into an empty cup in the middle," she said as she demonstrated. "If you make it in, then you instruct someone to drink." She grinned. "I choose Zach," she said as she elbowed the young man next to her.

Zacharias narrowed his eyes at her—obviously still disgruntled about her earlier scolding—then picked up his drink and took a healthy swallow.

"Some people play with the rules of chugging their drinks, but my cousin never did...he said the game's over too fast if you play that way. This way, we could actually play for hours." She grinned again. "So, because I made it, it's still my turn." Picking up the Galleon, Sophie bounced it and once again it found itself in the cup. "Drink, Parkinson," said the blonde ex-Hufflepuff.

Without wasting a second, Pansy picked up her glass and drank.

"Still my turn," Sophie said as she picked up the Galleon again. This time she missed. "If you miss, then you drink and your turn is over." She drank, then quickly explained that there were extra rules when someone was able to bounce the Galleon into the cup five times in a row...but that she'd explain that if that occurred.

After more than a few times around—and several extra rules created:

**#1** – a restriction on the word "drink," with a punishment of taking an extra one if you break the rule (made by Sophie)

**#2** – _another_ restriction...against using surnames...same "punishment" (Lavender seemed tired of hearing "Malfoy" and "Parkinson" and "Potter" and "Zabini")

**#3** – that missing your shot three rounds in a row meant the shooter had to _consume_ twice any time either his/her shot was missed or he/she was instructed to _consume_ by another AND that he/she had to sit on the lap of the person to his/her left for the next round (created by a grinning Pansy and unsuccessfully protested by Draco, for which he countered with a rule of his own)

**#4** – any time he, Draco, had to _imbibe_, so did Pansy—and she lost her next turn (Draco)

**#5** – that any time the person directly across from you took a _swig_, so did you (created by Blaise, for which he was quite sorry, because Zacharias was across from him and the former Hufflepuff stunk at the game)

—most were _more than_ a little loosened up. In fact, they were bordering on smashed by the time they paid their tab and made ready to leave the Three Broomsticks.

As they started back up to the castle, with Lila, Mandy, Quincy, Morag, Sophie—and a leeched-on Zacharias—in the lead, their arms looped around one another, they began singing several horribly off-key rounds of Hogwarts' school song:

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
>Teach us something, please,<br>Whether we be old and bald  
>Or young with scabby knees,<br>Our heads could do with filling  
>With some interesting stuff,<br>For now they're bare and full of air,  
>Dead flies and bits of fluff,<br>So teach us things worth knowing,  
>Bring back what we've forgot,<br>Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
>And learn until our brains all rot.<em>

Directly behind the group of singing students, Lavender was giggling, so hysterically in fact that she could hardly walk. After watching her stagger and stumble for a few moments, Blaise swooped in and scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder—causing the young woman to first laugh harder and then turn an interesting shade of green. Not that any of them could see it with her turned arse over elbow and her long hair handing over her face.

Hanging upside down, Lavender struggled against the man holding her. "Down," she groaned. "Put me _down_!"

"Not a chance, Brown! I like you right where you are," he said with a chuckle, then slapped her rear end for emphasis.

Being jostled over and over caused the blonde to moan, then pound her fists on his back. "I'm serious, Zabini!"

Laughing again, Blaise said, "Nope!"

"_Please_," she whined—then abruptly emptied her stomach onto the man's backside.

Behind them, Millicent and Pansy managed to sidestep the vomit that had landed on the ground in front of them, then burst out laughing—as did Draco and Harry.

"Nice aim, Brown," Draco congratulated the woman as he laughed.

"Not funny," Lavender whispered, then hiccupped.

"_Totally_ not funny, you guys!" Blaise called out. He wanted to drop the woman hanging over his shoulder, but knew doing that would just make more of a mess.

"Serves you right!" Millicent scolded him.

"I'm sorry," Lavender whimpered as she continued to dangle there.

"Come on...someone Vanish that shite; it's disgusting!" Blaise went on, ignoring Lavender.

"Oh, I don't know, Blaise darling, it could be a new look for you," Pansy said. She snickered, then wrinkled her nose. "Though, I'm not sure about the odor."

"And I'm not sure my spell work is all that decent at this stage in my drunkenness," Draco quipped. "I might Vanish that shapely arse of yours, mate."

Almost everyone laughed—then Millicent took pity on them. "Oh, _all right_! I'll do it," she said. Taking out her wand, she flicked it, making Lavender's mess disappear, then she helped Blaise lower the blonde to the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Blaise," Lavender said, tears in her eyes, once she was on her feet again.

Looking at her, the dark-skinned boy shook his head sheepishly. "Naw, it was my fault. I should have put you down when you asked me to."

Slapping the man's chest with the back of her hand, Millicent glared, "Damn right, you should have!" she snarled. Then to Lavender she said, "You okay?"

The blonde hesitated for a second. "I think so, yes," she said with a nod. "Actually, I feel loads better."

Millicent gave her a rare smile.

"Here, let me carry you back to the castle," Blaise offered—then held out his arms bridal-style and added, "_properly_," when Lavender looked at him skeptically. After she nodded, he scooped her up again, this time gently, and they continued on.

From behind, Draco watched his friends. Seeing Blaise Zabini, his long-time friend, honorably carrying the usually-giggly ex-Gryffindor, and Millicent Bulstrode, of all girls, fussing over her, Draco wondered yet again what in Salazar's name was going on between his friends and their once-loathed classmates. _This was so...odd_, he thought to himself.

But then his thoughts were interrupted as Pansy dropped back and positioned herself between Potter and him. Once there, the dark-haired young woman reached up and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then slung an arm around first, his shoulder, and then Potter's—much to the green-eyed man's surprise. This caused Draco to smile inwardly.

"That was fun," said Pansy.

"What, no kiss for Potter?" Draco asked his friend, giving her a lecherous grin.

Harry's face immediately turned bright red and Pansy glared at Draco—then she turned, grabbed the front of Harry's shirt, and kissed him soundly..._right on the mouth_!

"Satisfied?" she asked, turning back to her friend when she'd finished.

Draco snorted. "Not hardly."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, now I can honestly say that _I_ kissed the Chosen One...and that's something even _you_ can't say, Draco darling," she drawled.

At this Draco huffed—and Pansy laughed because only _she_ knew that her friend was extremely jealous over what she'd just done.

"We'll have to do this more often," Pansy said, referring to their entire evening. "I think this was good for our House. The win was brilliant, of course, but going out for drinks and playing that Muggle game was a blast. Don't you think?"

Draco nodded—as did a still-blushing Harry.

"Next time, and I cannot believe I'm going to say this, but...we'll have to get the others to come as well," she went on.

And on and on—and on—the young woman went as they walked up to the castle, only ceasing her chatter when they reached their Common Room and left her there.

* * *

><p><strong>Post Script<strong>

**Games  
><strong>

**1. Quidditch**

**Rules** **- **the official rules of Quidditch are partially described in _Quidditch Through the Ages_. They are said to have been laid down in 1750 by the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Some of the more common rules are as follows:

* Players must not stray over the boundary lines of the pitch, although they may fly as high as desired. The Quaffle must be surrendered to the opposition if any player leaves the boundary. Quidditch matches in the _Harry Potter_ films, however, show players often deliberately flying over the boundary lines and even around the spectator towers.

* A _time out_ may be called at any time by a team Captain. It may be extended to two hours if a game has already lasted for more than twelve hours. Failure to return to the pitch afterward disqualifies the offending team.

* The referee can impose penalties if a foul occurs. A single Chaser from the fouled team takes a penalty shot by flying from the central circle towards the scoring area. The opposing team's Keeper may attempt to block this shot, but no other player may interfere, much like a penalty shot in ice hockey.

* Contact is allowed, but a player may not grasp another's broomstick or any part of his or her body. (Draco Malfoy breaks this rule in _Prisoner of Azkaban_ by grabbing Harry's broomtail to stop him from seizing the Snitch.)

* **No substitution of a player is allowed, even if one is too badly hurt to continue (rare exceptions may be made when the game continues for a great length of time, and players become too fatigued to continue).**

* Players may take their wands onto the pitch, but they must not be used on or against any players, any player's broomstick, the referee, any of the four balls, or the spectators. (The right to carry wands at all times was granted during the height of wizard and witch persecution by Muggles, according to _Quidditch Through the Ages_).

* Players are not allowed to attack one another by wand, hand or broom.

**Fouls**

Rowling writes that there are 700 Quidditch fouls listed in the Department of Magical Games and Sports records, but most of these fouls are not open to the public, owing to the Department's supposed fear the wizards/witches who read the list of fouls "might get ideas". It is claimed that all 700 occurred during the very first Quidditch World Cup. Apparently, most are now impossible to commit as there is a ban on using wands against an opponent (imposed in 1538). The most common of those fouls which are described are enumerated below.

* Blagging: No player may seize any part of an opponent's broom to slow or hinder the player (Draco Malfoy commits this foul in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_, thus preventing Harry from seizing the Snitch).

* Blatching: No player may fly with the intent to collide. (Substitute Slytherin seeker Harper breaks this rule when he collides into Harry after insulting the latter's friend, and Gryffindor Keeper, Ronald Weasley. This occurs in the sixth book, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_.)

* Blurting: No player may lock broom handles with the intent to steer an opponent off course. (Often occurs whilst playing Slytherin)

* **Bumphing****: Beaters must not hit Bludgers towards spectators (although Harry jokingly orders one of his Beaters to send one at Zacharias Smith in **_**Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince**_**), or the Keeper, unless the Quaffle is within the scoring area (in the first film, however, Marcus Flint, a Chaser, commits this foul with a Beater's bat, and Madam Hooch refuses to penalise him for it).**

* Cobbing: Players must not make excessive use of their elbows against opponents. (Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Chaser, commits this foul against the Gryffindor Chaser, Angelina Johnson, in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_).

* Flacking: Keepers must not defend the posts from behind by punching Quaffles out of the hoops—goals must be defended from the front.

* Haversacking: Chasers must not still be in contact with the Quaffle as it passes through a hoop (the Quaffle must be _thrown_ through).

* Quaffle-pocking: Chasers must not tamper with the Quaffle in any way.

* Snitchnip: No player other than the Seeker may touch or catch the Golden Snitch.

* Stooging: No more than one Chaser is allowed in the scoring area at any one time. (However, game play in _Harry Potter: Quidditch World Cup_ and the fan-made Q3D permit this behaviour.)

International renowned player Patrick Mckenzie of Scotland is the only known player to commit more than half of these in one match, with multiple offenses.

**XxX**

**2. Quarters**

Quarters is a popular drinking game which involves players bouncing a quarter off a table in an attempt to have the quarter land in a certain place, usually into a shotglass (or cup) on that table. The game is popular at parties, especially in colleges and universities in the United States and Canada, as well as in Germany. It is also played in South America, where it's called "monedita", Spanish for little coin.

The player bouncing the quarter is referred to as the "shooter." In some variations the glass is empty and each player has a separate glass to drink from, while in other variations the glass that the shooter is aiming for contains an alcoholic beverage.

The quarter is customarily bounced on the face whether heads or tails. Some games may allow a player to bounce the quarter on the edge, particularly by rolling it down their nose.

**Gameplay** (rules vary by group of players and none of the following are the rules _my_ friends played by)

**Version 1: **Each round starts off with a glass filled with beer in the middle of the table and two people on opposite ends of the table having a quarter and a glass. Each player shoots his or her quarter at his/her glass until he makes it in, then the player passes the glass to the player to his left. If the player to his left still has a glass as well, the player taps that glass with his, and the player who has been tapped must drink the glass of beer in the middle of the table, refill it, then make the quarter into his or her glass before she gets tapped again, with play still going around the table. If a player makes his or her first shot, s/he can choose to pass the glass to any player who does not currently have a glass. If there are enough people at the table, the group can add more shot glasses and position them equally spaced around the outside of the circle.

**Version 2: **An alternative method of gameplay is that one glass is positioned in the center of the table. Participants take turns attempting to bounce the quarter into the glass. If the shooter succeeds, they pass the glass to anyone at the table, and that person must then chug the beverage and catch the quarter in their teeth. Play then passes to the person on the shooter's left. Should the shooter fail to make the shot, they have the option of passing the quarter to the left, or shooting a second time. If the shooter succeeds on his second shot, he passes the glass as usual. If the shooter fails on their second shot, they must drink the beverage. In either case, the person on their left becomes the next shooter.

**Version 3: **Another method involves various cups and one community cup. A community cup is first placed in the center of the table. Each player has their own individual cup, and these cups are placed around the community cup, forming a ring around the community cup (much like a flower pattern). Players fill their individual cups with a shot of their drink, and pour a small amount of their drink into the community cup (various drinks can be used to play, so the community cup may house a mixture of different drinks). A shooter begins by bouncing a quarter towards the cups. If the quarter lands in a player's cup, the player must drink his/her shot, refill the cup, and place it back with the rest. If the shooter lands the quarter in to the community cup, every player must reach into the center and drink their shot. The last player to finish their drink must then drink the community cup. If the shooter makes his/her shot on the first attempt, they may shoot again until they miss. If they miss on the first attempt, they must pass the quarter to the next player on their left.

**Version 4: **Yet another alteration, named speed quarters, involves six or more people around a small table, several quarters, beer for each player, and two empty shot glasses placed in front of opposite players. When the game begins, the two players with glasses pick up a quarter and try to bounce it off of the table into the shot glass in front of them as quickly as possible. If the shot is not made they keep shooting until one makes the shot. This player dumps the quarter out and passes the glass to the player to his left while the other shooter continues to shoot until he makes a quarter into his shot glass. Eventually, when repeated enough, one glass will catch up to the other in rotation. When this happens, the player still shooting must overturn a glass and stack the other on top. He gets two chances to bounce a quarter off of the table and into the top glass. If he makes it on the first, he can pass the stacked glasses to any player, where that player get two chances, and so on. If the player makes it on the second shot, the glasses are unstacked, one passes to the player on the left, and one to the player opposite him. Gameplay resumes from the beginning. If the player does not get a quarter into the stacked glasses in two shots, the player on his right will spin a quarter while the "loser" chugs his beer until the quarter ceases to spin. Any player can blow on the quarter or spin it with their finger to keep it spinning. After this, the glasses are split like when the game started and it begins again. Gameplay ends when the players feel they are sufficiently inebriated.

Any shot where the shooter does not bounce the quarter off of the table at least once counts as a miss.


	22. Conversing Yet AGAIN!

x-X-x

**Author's Response to Questions, Comments, Reviews**

Demitea (11/4/12) – Omg u have no idea how excited i was when I got the email saying u updated! And I loved this chapter! Great work and please update soon! :) ******* Sorry about my lack of "soon"...though I'd like to be able to claim I've been busy, I cannot. *sigh***

Lori94 (11/4/12) – Good one! Loved Pansy's craziness! ******* Crazy Pansy is always fun to write! =)**

potterbuncker (11/15/12) – Hmmm not a bad fic so far, your spelling and grammar seem to have improved. Um quick question I know in the book out took lupins friends years to become animagus and here you want Harry and co. to learn it in a month? Thanks for sharing your work. ******* Hmm. You didn't really let me get to that yet, but...you do get some of that in this chapter. There'll be more later...and an explanation as to why/how they do it faster. Thanks for reading and reviewing though...it's definitely appreciated. And, if you see glaring mistakes (spelling and grammar), point that shite out...either in your review or in a PM…sometimes I read my chapters so many times that I just don't see them anymore. *sigh***

**Author's Note**

Hi all...sorry it's been so long. My only excuse is that I've been reading a lot and not writing at all... *sigh* ...and dueling on Pottemore (though not doing much of that this week either).

Okay, here's **Chapter Twenty-two**...if you find typos, please let me know (I couldn't stand to do a final reread!

* * *

><p><strong>Posted: <strong>30 December, 2012

**Word Court: **4,421 (shorter than I like and VERY dialogy)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Class of Ninety-nine<strong>_

**Chapter Twenty-two**

"**Conversing Yet AGAIN!"**

"Oi, mate! Do you _mind_?!" Ron burst, immediately covering his eyes with one hand and holding the other up to block his view line of sight. Then, clearly changing his mind, the red-haired young man dropped both hands, while simultaneously turning away, then hobbled toward the door to leave the dorm room he shared with Blaise Zabini. Not so quickly, Ron crossed the upstairs hall and began his descent of the stairs, side-stepping Neville, who was on his way up. It was the Saturday night following his mishap on the Quidditch pitch and his leg was mostly healed—though still a bit stiff and sore—and he was irritated because Hermione insisted they study. On a Saturday night!

_And now_ this_!_ Ron thought as he stumbled a little, then quickly righted himself on the railing and tried to continue on.

"What's your rush, Ron?" Neville asked, putting a steadying hand on the redhead's arm.

Pausing, Ron looked at his long-time dorm mate and friend, then flung a hand upward. "Blaise is wandering about our room completely starkers. _Again_! I've _had_ it!"

Neville laughed—he'd seen the darker young man's wanderings on more than one occasion—then glanced in the direction of Ron and Zabini's room and grinned. "Um...I'd say your roommate's...not _at all_ shy, yeah?" he said with an upward nod.

Blinking at Neville, Ron followed the man's gaze to see what he was staring at—Blaise was standing just outside their door, leaning on the railing, still stark bollock naked—then squeezed his eyes shut. "What the _bloody hell_ is the matter with you, mate?!" he hollered at his roommate, then gestured to Lavender and Lila, who'd just come out of their rooms and were now gawking at the naked man. "There are girls present!"

Blaise looked across at the girls and waved in his typical flirtatious way. "Good evening, ladies."

Lila laughed, then returned to her room—but Lavender giggled and wagged her fingers back at the man. "Hello there, Blaisy," she said, calling him by the name she'd adopted since he'd carried her back from the Three Broomsticks the weekend before.

Ron looked from Lavender to Blaise, then rolled his eyes. "Would you cover yourself up already?!" he whinged. "They may not be offended, but _I am_!"

"Oh, lighten up, Weasley, we all know what a cock looks like," came Millicent Bulstrode's voice from above him. She and Pansy were just coming out of Pansy's room and both were snickering.

"Yeah, and...Blaise strutting his stuff isn't at all new to _us_," Pansy quipped—then paused. "You know, Weasley, for someone with so many siblings, I wouldn't think you'd be such a bleeding prude."

After glaring at the two young women, Ron huffed and continued down the stairs to the Common Room.

"Bring me up some snacks, would you, mate?" Blaise called out from the railing above as his angry roommate disappeared. Then, to the girls, he said, "Do you think he will?"

Millicent snorted. "I wouldn't bet on it!"

Pansy shook her head. "Not a chance, _Blaisey_," she said with a laugh.

Frowning, the dark-skinned man turned and took his naked arse back into his room.

Sighing dreamily, Lavender said, "I never noticed before, but...he's _really_ hot."

Millicent glared at the blonde. "I think you're drooling, Brown. Might want to close your mouth."

At this Pansy snickered. "Or follow Blaise into his room and _open_ your mouth wide enough to—"

SMACK!

"_Ouch_! What the _fuck_, Millicent?! That _hurt_!" Pansy complained as she rubbed her sore shoulder and scowled at her friend. But she quickly noticed that her friend wasn't _at all_ paying attention. Instead, she was staring after Lavender Brown, who seemed to be taking her advice and was making her way up to Blaise's room. Frowning, she studied her brick-like friend, then she let her eyes follow the blonde ex-Gryffindork—until she disappeared, closing Blaise's door quietly behind her. And then she blinked.

"Mill, are you _still_ lusting after Blaise?"

Millicent blanched at Pansy's words. "_What_?! Pfft! Absolutely _not_!" she scoffed—then turned and disappeared into the room she shared with Lavender.

**XxXxXxX**

Down in the Common Room, Ron flopped onto one of the empty sofas, then raised his eyes to see who was sitting across from him. Partially blocked by an open newspaper, Ron scowled. Knowing the person by posture alone, he said, "Someone's _got_ to control your friend, Ferret," he complained at the former Slytherin boy.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco lowered his reading material. "What are you on about, Weasel?" he snapped.

"Your friend...someone ought to control him," Ron repeated.

"And which _friend_ would that be?" Draco asked, deliberately feigning ignorance.

"Blaise."

Draco couldn't help but chuckle. "Naked?"

Grimacing, Ron nodded. "What the fuck is up with that anyway?"

Shrugging, the blond when back to reading his paper. "No idea."

For several minutes, the two sat there in silence; Draco reading and Ron, his head tipped back onto the sofa back, had his eyes closed. "Where's Harry?" he asked after a minute or two.

Frustrated, Draco sighed and lowered the paper again. "Excuse me?"

Ron's eyes were open again. "Harry. You know, your roomie...where is he?"

The blond rolled his eyes. "Do I look like Potter's keeper to you, Weasley?" he asked.

And then Harry appeared beside Ron—a glass of _something_ alcoholic-looking in his hand. "Looking for me?"

Draco scowled and went back to reading, but Ron smiled and nodded. "Harry. Mate." Still grinning, the redhead moved over and patted the sofa beside him. "I've hardly seen you this week," he complained—then grabbed Harry's drink and took a healthy gulp.

Sitting down next to his friend, Harry chuckled. "Yeah...well, that's what happens when you let Hermione guilt you into studying 24/7," he quipped as he snatched his glass back and raised it to his mouth.

Ron pulled a face. "She's been...insufferable!"

Laughing again, Harry said, "You _could_ find better places to hide."

The blond snorted, but Harry and Ron both ignored him.

Ron shook his head. "Right, mate, because..._that_ works. She finds me anywhere."

"True that," Harry agreed.

Again Ron confiscated Harry's drink, took a swallow—and then another—then handed it back. "It's Saturday night and she wants to _study_...I'm telling you, the girl's mental."

Harry nodded. "Always has been," he said as he raised his glass and drank. "Hey. Where's Fred?" he asked after swallowing. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"McGonagall banned him from our Common Room for two weeks...and told him that, if he refused behave, she'd find a way to have him removed from the castle permanently. She even owled mum."

"Why?"

"Loads of complaints. I heard Ernie tell Lila that Neville was grumbling about Fred pushing their dorm room door open and spying on his...ahh..._bedroom_ activities. Apparently Hannah was completely mortified when Fred started rating their technique...though _that_ had Ernie doubled over in hysterics. And Zacharias has been carping on about being followed, claiming that Fred's been _calling him names_," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "Something about him not sticking around for the battle last year."

Harry snickered at this. "Git."

Ron grinned. "I know, right? The git's a bloody _coward_! But Fred's gone too far. He's been calling Michael and Justin, Fruitcake One and Fruitcake Two...and telling Morag that he's _dying_ for a blowjob and begging her to off herself so she can give him one. He even asked her to bring a friend so they can have a threesome."

His eyes wide, Harry let out another laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah...and he keeps warning Bulstrode that she ought to at least forego dessert if she hopes to ever get laid again," Ron continued. "Hmm. _Again_. That makes me wonder how _my_ brother knows anything about _Bulstrode's_ sexual activities."

Instantly, Draco dropped his paper again and glared at the two former lions with disgust. "Oh, for _Salazar's_ sake, you two are worse than a gaggle of gossiping Gryffindork girls!" he said, his gray eyes flashing angrily. "But, in this case, I'll _gladly_ satisfy your curiosity, Weasley. During our fifth year, before your idiot brothers got themselves tossed out of school, I happened on them. The _both of them_ were in an alcove with Millicent." He shuddered. "It wasn't pretty _at all_, let me tell you. Let's just say that Hogwarts isn't all they got tossed from."

Almost choking on his drink, Harry swallowed hard, then burst out laughing—but Ron turned green and made a few retching noises. "That's just..._way_ too much information, Malfoy. I think I'm going to be sick," he whinged, making a show of gagging again.

His paper up in front of his face again, Draco said, "Curiosity killed the Kneazle, Weasley."

Once again, Ron shuddered, then tried to remove thoughts of Millicent Bulstrode in alcoves with Fred and George from his mind and made every attempt to focus. "So, before we were so _rudely_ interrupted," he said, sending a glare over at the newspaper wall that separated them from the snarky blond, "where was I?"

"Fred's banning. Malfoy just gave us images of—"

"Right! _Don't_ remind me," Ron said, cutting him off. "So, _Sophie_ said Fred's been hovering on the upstairs landing outside the girls' dorms, chucking things into their rooms if they leave their doors unlocked. Evidently he can't push open locked doors...according to Quincy, who's been _actively_ assessing Fred's abilities."

"He's _such_ a Ravenclaw," Harry said, "but, good to know."

Ron nodded. "Definitely. As good as it is to see and talk to Fred again, he's been a right pain in the arse! And not just in our House. Gin told me McGonagall's banned him from Gryffindor tower as well...for a _month_! She didn't elaborate on his shenanigans there, but I suspect it was worse than here...and I heard it's the same in Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

Harry chuckled. "Well, that's just like Fred, isn't it?"

Ron nodded. "Absolutely!"

"I'm just surprised that George isn't here joining in."

"Oh, didn't I tell you? After George's initial visit, with the family that first day Fred was back, he's refused to come again. He says it's not his Fred. I actually think that's why Fred's acting up so much."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense."

"So, Fred's also managed to maneuver himself into Lila and Morag's toilet and..._somehow_ threw a cauldron of toilet water all over Parkinson's bed."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at this.

"That's not very nice, Potter!" Draco snapped from the other sofa. He'd dropped his paper to his lap again and was glaring at the other two boys—who snorted in unison. "It was a sodding mess! Pansy was quite upset."

"It's not like she doesn't bloody well deserve it, Malfoy," Ron said. "You and your Housemates have been insufferable throughout the years."

"Do you even hear yourself, Weasley? It's not as if your lot has treated us any better."

Ron just rolled his eyes and turned back to his friend. "So yeah, loads of complaints."

"Can McGonagall really remove him from the castle?" Harry asked. Having Fred here might be hard on them, but what would removing him from Hogwarts do to him?

Ron shrugged. "Who knows...maybe she can box him up and give him to mum...or George. That would sure make it real for George, yeah?"

"I suppose, but...seems like the castle is a better place for him though. It's bigger and has more places for him to go. George's place, or even the Burrow, would be so...cramped. Don't you think?"

"Might, yeah."

"Better tell Freddie Boy to behave himself, Weasley, or he might find himself itinerant," Draco put in.

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Ron quickly barked. "This doesn't concern you."

Sighing, the blond neatly folded his paper, set it down beside him, then sat up and leaned forward. "That's where you're wrong, Weasel. If that ghost brother of yours is in my space, harassing people I have to live with, then it's _absolutely_ a concern of mine...even if I don't particularly _like_ some of you twats! And further—"

"All right, Malfoy, we get it," Harry cut in. "Let's not quibble over this. Drink?" he asked, holding out his half-consumed glass.

For a moment, Draco stared at the dark-haired boy's beverage. He wanted a drink, but wasn't quite used to sharing with others...let alone Potter. "Um. No thank you, Potter," he said—then picked up his belongings, got up, and headed toward the door that would take him out of their Common Room.

Harry and Ron watched him go, then grinned at one another. "What do you suppose is eating him?" Ron asked.

"Dunno," Harry said with a shrug. "He's been pretty grumpy this week."

Ron snorted. "How can you tell? Malfoy's _always_ grumpy."

"He received an owl at the beginning of the week," Harry said. "He didn't say so, but...I think it was from Lucius."

"Hmm. That would make me grumpy too."

"Yeah. And, speaking of grumpy...Hermione's headed this way and she doesn't look pleased _at all_."

"Oh _fuck_! She wants to study, of course, and...I'm sick to death of studying," Ron groused. "Hide me or something."

Harry laughed. "It's a bit too late for that, mate," he said, standing up in preparation to leave. "She's already seen you and...hey there, 'Mione," he greeted pleasantly when the girl stopped beside him.

"Hello, Harry. You joining our study group tonight?" she asked hopefully—and with a tone that told Harry one of her eminent lectures was imminent.

"Er...wasn't planning on it," he answered and started looking for a way to escape.

"Well, you _should_," she lectured—then lowered her voice to barely audible. "I would like to assemble our Animagus training group...since we did so poorly in our first session last week...Lavender's going to need us in just ten days and there's only _one of us_ who can change. I don't want to let Lavender down and...it's not really fair to expect Millicent to do the job every month."

Ron's nose wrinkled up and both Harry and Hermione thought he was going to make a rude comment about Millicent Bulstrode—but he didn't. "Since when are you a supporter of Lavender, 'Mione? I thought you couldn't _stand_ her."

The brunette's brow creased. "I'll be the first to admit that she's not my favorite person, but...you know very well that I don't _dislike_ anyone, Ronald," she reminded her boyfriend—then folded her arms over her chest. "And...well...I'm sure you're _also_ aware that the only reason I didn't care for her much was because...you were _dating_ her." Hermione blushed as she said the last four words and glanced down at her feet, clearly embarrassed.

Ron grinned at this—her confession, not her embarrassment. "Yeah, I did know that...though, not at the time." It made him feel good that Hermione liked him enough to have been jealous over him dating Lavender, even if it was years ago...and that she was admitting it, though it obviously pained her to do so.

"So...since that's no longer the case..." the brunette started, but let her voice trail off.

Ron sighed. "All right. Where did you want to meet?"

Looking up from her feet, Hermione beamed at her boyfriend, then slid onto his lap and kissed him full on the mouth. "I have Daphne gathering people, but...I haven't seen Draco."

"He just left," Harry informed her, nodding at the Common Room door.

Reaching out, Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm and said, "Be a dear and fetch him, would you? I want all of us."

Harry wanted to protest, because...why did it _always_ have to be _him_ who had to deal with his moody roommate...but Hermione gave him a stern look.

"Come on, Harry...we _need_ him," she said.

"Oh, _all right_!" he snapped—then got up and started for his room...to get his map.

**XxXxXxX**

After grabbing his map and quickly checking it, Harry stuffed it into his back pocket and made his way out of the Common Room. Closing the portrait door behind him, he turned left and head down the steps that led to the small sitting area just around a bend from the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor. Once there he stopped and silently watched at the other boy.

"You ought to take a picture, Potter, it'll last longer," the blond said without looking up from his book.

Surprised, Harry said, "How'd you know it was me?"

Without looking up from his book—and ignoring the question—the blond posed his own. "You following me around again?"

Frowning, Harry slowly approached his roommate. "No," he said simply as he sat on the sofa next to the one Malfoy was sitting on. "Hermione sent me out to look for you...she wants us to work on our Animagus training."

Glancing up over the top edge of his book, Draco leveled a glare at Harry. "It takes _years_ of training to become an Animagus, Potter...do you really think a little _practice_ is going to get us there?"

Harry shrugged. "Might. My father did it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, after _years_ of trying. Do you think that, just because you're the Chosen One, you'll be able to do it right from the off?"

"Well, obviously not, yeah? Since I failed in our first attempt last week and all, but...we still have to try."

"We don't _have_ to do anything, Potter!" Draco snarled, snapping his book closed and tossing it onto the sofa beside him.

Frowning again, Harry said, "What's got your knickers in a twist, Malfoy?"

Glancing away, Draco stared at the one-way mirror, which gave him—both of them—a clear view into the Forbidden Corridor; it was empty.

"Come on, Malfoy...you're being more arse-like than you usually are...what the fuck's wrong with you?"

Resisting the urge to fidget—because Malfoys did _not_ fidget—Draco gritted his teeth, then looked Harry in the eye. "Father owled at the beginning of the week. His letter basically said that, though recent events have changed some things, I am to behave like a proper Malfoy."

Harry snorted. "Why am I not at all surprised?"

Draco frowned, but verbally ignored the other boy's cut. "The thing is, I'm not really sure what that means," Draco continued. "Mother attached a short note to Father's letter...she wanted me to know that Father's in a bad way and that I should do nothing to upset him. What the fuck does that even mean? I'm all the way up here at Hogwarts...how could I possibly _upset_ him?"

Harry frowned. "Hmm. No idea. I'm sure you'll think of something...must be a million ways piss off Lucius Malfoy," he said with a grin.

This made Draco scowl. "This isn't supposed to be amusing, Potter. I've been in a state all week and you're making jokes!" Again, the blond turned to stare through the one-way mirror. "Tell Granger I'm not _practicing_ today."

Harry sighed. "Fine...don't practice, but...you can tell her yourself! I'm not doing your dirty work," he said as he stood up. "Come on. Let's go."

Draco glared up at his green-eyed roommate for a second, then sighed again and stood up. "Fine."

**XxXxXxX**

"Okay, Malfoy," Harry said with a barely stifled snicker as he and his roommate reached the entrance to their House. "Let's hear another piece of that extensively lengthy pure-blood name of yours."

Folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the banister behind him, Draco glared at the dark-haired young man. "Redundant much, Potter?" he queried petulantly. "If you think I'm going to satisfy your desire to know more about me, just because you're The-Boy-Who-Lived, you're _sadly_ mistaken."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, don't be a prick!" Harry snapped, leveling the blond with an equally snappish glare. "It's been at least a month since I've made you do this...the least you could do is cough up another name. And don't call me that!"

This made the blond produce one of his well-known sneers. "All right. How about this? I'll pretend you didn't call me a prick, if you do the same about what I called you. Deal?"

Lifting his hands and placing them on his hips, Harry gave a stiff nod. "Okay. And?"

"And _what_?"

"Names?" Harry reminded, his green eyes twinkling.

At this Draco huffed. "Why can't you just say yours, Potter? Common though it is, it's shorter...and faster. We could be inside in a second, if you'd just open the damned door."

"We'd already _be in_ if you'd just do what I've asked you to do," Harry countered, then pointed at the door. "Go on."

"Why can't you just say yours?" Draco repeated, almost pleadingly.

"Because, like you've already established, I have a desire to learn more about you...and so you're going to stop being a brat and satisfy said desire," Harry said with a grin.

Draco ground his teeth and pushed off the stair-railing. "Fine, but...just one more name."

Harry shrugged. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Today," Harry added...just as the blond began to face the portrait.

Stopping, Draco looked at his roommate. "What do you mean by, _today_?"

"I mean that, the next time the two of us are out here together...on another day, perhaps...I'm going to ask you for another part of your massive long non-common name and you're going to give it to me," Harry said confidently.

"How do you figure?"

Harry shrugged. "Because, not even you can resist me, Malfoy. Admit it."

Draco felt himself blushing and quickly turned away from the other boy. "I hate you, Potter!"

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know...like your _name_!

"Fine, but...only one more and...you're going to owe me something. Something big."

Again Harry shrugged. "Fine. Now stop stalling, Draconis Scorpius Lucius _A-million-something-elses_ Malfoy!"

"Not a _million_," Draco argued, his eyes on Harry again.

Crossing his arms, Harry just stared at the blond.

Huffing, Draco said, "Draconis Scorpius Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," and waited. Nothing! He knew the portrait door wouldn't open for him, because he'd not used his full name. Damn his pure-blood parents and their pure-blood naming practices! And _damn_ Harry _bloody_ Potter for doing this to him!

Snickering, the dark-haired boy said, "Harry James Potter," and they both watched as the portrait swung open. "Don't you just love common names," he teased.

"Fuck you, Potter...you suck!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry said. "That's what you said last time."

Frowning, Draco considered mentioning what Potter _could_ suck—but he didn't dare. Instead he said nothing.

"So, that was your grandfather's name..._Abacus_?"

"I said, _Abraxas_, you idiot!" the blond snapped. "Are you deliberately obtuse or just a moron?"

"Um. Would you like me to talk to Hermione for you...as the thing I owe you...or do you have something else in mind?" Harry asked instead of answering the question.

At this Draco smirked. "Oh no, Potter, I'm going to expect _far_ more than you conversing with Granger in my stead. And it'll be when you least expect it," he threatened, then turned and went inside.

**XxXxXxX**

"That was a _disaster_!" Hermione complained dramatically. Not one of them had been able to turn—except Millicent and she already knew how—and the brunette was extremely disappointed.

"I wouldn't quite use the word _disaster_, Hermione," Daphne said. "I mean, none of us got hurt or anything and...I've read that's actually a possibility."

Hermione bit her lip, then nodded. "Yes, that's true, but...I was just _hoping_—"

"That you'd be better at this than most people?" Millicent asked curtly, cutting Hermione off.

Frowning, Hermione shook her head. "No, of course not!" she said at the same time both Ron and Daphne came to her defense.

"Shut your mouth, Bulstrode!" Ron snapped right when Daphne said, "Millie, that's not fair!

Placing one hand on her boyfriend's arm and squeezing—to shut _him_ up—then slipping her other hand into her roommate's, Hermione tried to smile at Millicent Bulstrode. "What I mean...Millicent," she said, "is that I'd _really_ like to be able to help Lavender and we're hurting for time. I was _hoping_ we'd have more success than this, but...I do understand that this is quite the endeavor. I am, however, truly grateful that we at least have _you_ to be there for her. I'm sure it means _the world_ to Lavender that you are."

For a second, all Millicent could do was stare, then she gave a stiff nod and glanced away.

"You know, Hermione, I was just thinking...maybe we could invite the rest of our House to join us in this," Daphne suggested.

Hermione frowned. "I don't know. McGonagall wanted us to keep this to ourselves.

Daphne laughed. "And do you Gryffindors _always_ do what you're told?" asked the blonde.

Hermione looked affronted. "Of course, we do—"

"_NOT_!" Ron and Harry bellowed in unison—causing some laughter.

"Well then," Daphne said with a grin, "maybe there's actually another in our House who's _already_ an Animagi. It's unlikely, but..._maybe_."

"Don't you think McGonagall would have already known and told us to seek the person out?" Hermione asked.

Millicent shook her head. "I don't think so...she didn't know about me until I told her. I think it's a good idea."

"Of course you do!" Ron snapped. "Since the idea came from a fellow snake."

The three girls rolled their eyes, but it was Harry who spoke. "I think it's a good idea too, Ron...Lavender could use all the help she can get, yeah?"

Ron frowned. "I suppose. All right."

"Wait! Shouldn't we at least run this by McGonagall?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "And give her a chance to say no? No way. We can tell her later, if someone's successful."

Daphne, Millicent, and Ron all nodded.

Reluctantly, Hermione finally agreed. "All right then. Should we gather everyone now?"

"I think we should," Daphne said with another nod—then glanced at Harry and Ron. "Why don't you two go get you roommates."

Both boys frowned—and so did Hermione. "Speaking of which, why wasn't Blaise here practicing with us?" she asked.

At this Millicent's face fell and she stomped out of the room.

"What's eating her?" Ron asked after the door had slammed.

Daphne didn't like gossiping, but felt she should explain. "Pansy mentioned that Lavender went up into yours and Blaise's room earlier and...Millie's sort of had a crush on Blaise for years. I'm sure she's just upset about that."

"Well then...let's _not_ collect them then," Ron suggested with a shudder; the last thing he wanted to do was walk in on his ex-girlfriend and his current roommate. Nope! No, thank you!

* * *

><p>Here's a bit of sum up for the month of October (in this fic)...just in case anyone is confused.<p>

**Week #4 **(Sept 28th – Oct 4th)  
><strong>* <strong>4th – the first time Lavender Brown had an issue with turning into a werewolf since her bite on May 2nd (Chapter 19)

**Week #5 **(Oct 5th – Oct 11th)  
><strong>* <strong>5th – the first full moon Lavender changed (she changed on the 6th as well), (Chapter 20)

**Week #6** (Oct 12th – Oct 18th)  
><strong>* <strong> 14th – first time the Animagius group got together to train (didn't write about it...sorry)  
><strong>* <strong>17th – the **Eighths** vs. **Gryffindor **Quidditch match (Eighths win...this was in Chapter 21)

**Week #7** (Oct 19th – Oct 25th)  
><strong>* <strong>24th – second meeting for Animagius training

**Week #8** (Oct 26th – Nov 1st)  
><strong>* <strong>31st – Halloween (may or may not write about it)


End file.
